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VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


THE STORY OF DAVID SHELDON. 


KATE Wc^^AMILTON, 


AUTHOB OF 


“OLD PORTMANTEAU,” “CHINKS OF CLANNYFORD,” 
“WE THREE,” ETC. 




PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 
No. 1334 CHESTNUT STREET. 

I m a ] 



Copyright, 1879, by 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. 




Westcott & Thomson, 
Slereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada, 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 


The Shadowed Home 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Gathering Clouds 25 

CHAPTER III. 

The Barclays 46 

CHAPTER IV. 

At Home Again. 69 

CHAPTER V. 

Little Tony 89 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Mountaineers’ Rest 110 

CHAPTER VII. 

Light Shining in Darkness 129 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER YIIL 

PAGE 

In Whisky Row 153 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Sting of the Adder 172 

CHAPTER X. 

The Explosion 191 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Rescue 215 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Homeless at Home 233 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Wheels Stopped 254 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Return 272 

CHAPTER XV. 

Elected 294 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Returning Light 314 


Vagabond and Victor. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SHADOWED HOME. 

T he rainy autumn afternoon was darken- 
ing into twilight; sombre shadows had 
already gathered in the corners of the room ; 
and even at the window, where the mother 
sat, there was but a dim gray light. It re- 
vealed only too plainly, however, the small- 
ness of the sum she held — a two- dollar bill, 
a silver quarter of a dollar and two dimes. 
Count it forward or backward as she would, 
bill or coins first, it did not increase by a 
single penny, and with a sigh she dropped it 
slowly back into her purse — a lean, hungry- 
looking purse that seemed always asking for 
more. Two dollars and forty-five cents ! A 
meagre allotment for the week’s provisions, 

5 


6 


VAGABOND AND VICTOE. 


and Nat so needed new boots, and Billyhs 
old jacket was entirely too thin for these cold 
days. The thought of a single need opened 
the door for a troop, and they filed before 
her mental vision in seemingly endless pro- 
cession. 

The mother leaned back wearily. Her 
head was aching — that was nothing uncom- 
mon — ^but her yielding to it so far as to be 
sitting there was, and told that the pain was 
worse than usual. Her occupation had not 
soothed the throbbing ; and, realizing this, 
she tried to turn from it and forget all her 
inner world in the world without. But the 
narrow street did not present a very cheering 
prospect with its wet walks, dripping eaves 
and fences, and little pools forming in the 
hollows of the doorstones. The leafiess 
trees bent and swayed in the wind like 
mourners in a passion of grief, and tossed 
their long arms pleadingly — their empty 
arms that seemed reaching after the vanish- 
ed beauty and treasures of their summer-time. 
There were but few people abroad, at least in 
that part of the city, and they passed by with 
bent heads and hurried steps to escape the 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


7 


storm. To what sort of homes were they go- 
ing? and would they carry joy or sorrow 
with them ? the watcher at the window 
vaguely wondered. And did they really be- 
long anywhere, and feel that there was a 
place for them ? The world of late seemed 
so crowded, as if there were scarcely room in 
it for her and hers ! 

The twilight faded rapidly, and presently 
the lamplighter made his round, the street- 
lamps twinkling out through the grayness 
and mist where he passed. Then a light 
appeared in the window of the little store 
opposite, where a bell tinkled whenever 
the door opened or closed. The sound of 
some one entering there suddenly recalled 
the but half-absent thoughts of the watcher 
to life’s pressing needs. She turned as a 
step sounded in the adjoining room : 

‘‘ Louise !” 

A young girl came to the door ; that 
movement, with the questioning glance of 
her black eyes, was her answer. 

“We have no bread for supper. Will you 
run over to the store for a loaf?” 

Louise nodded ; her silent moods were 


8 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


many, her talkative ones rare. She was not 
more than fourteen, yet nothing in face or 
manner told of lingering childhood while 
she stood there waiting for her mother to 
draw out again the worn purse. When the 
money was placed in her hand she only 
glanced at it and did not move. 

Some tea for you too, mother,” she said 
quietly, not interrogatively. 

“Well — ” the mother hesitated. “No, I 
think I can do without it to-night.” 

“ Some tea for you,” repeated Louise. 
“This is not quite money enough.” 

The mother yielded to the persistent tone 
and the outstretched hand, but said half re- 
gretfully as she added the extra change, 

“ It may help my head, yet I don’t really 
feel as if I ought to send for it ; I could do 
without.” 

“ It’s not worth while scrimping ourselves 
to death to save a living,” replied Louise 
sententiously. 

Poor Louise ! there was not much of sen- 
timent or poetry about her. Life and her- 
self had been matter-of-fact realities so far, 
and both were sometimes rather bitter. 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


9 


She threw a shawl over her head and 
picked her way across the muddy street to 
the lighted window. As the jingling bell 
announced her entrance, gentle, lame Miss 
E-uey, sitting back by the stove, looked up 
from her knitting with a smile, while brisk, 
erect, angular Miss Hannah hastened behind 
the counter to attend to her customer. Sis- 
ters these two women were — Twins, born 
so,’^ Miss Hannah was wont gravely to an- 
swer to any inquiries — but they were 
strangely unlike. Miss Hannah took care 
of the small house and store, and Miss Euey 
took care of Hannah, though the latter 
never dreamed it. 

“ How is the mother to-day ?” asked the 
little lame woman’s kindly voice. 

“ Headache,” replied Louise briefly. 

“ What a pity !” said Miss Euey sympa- 
thizingly. 

‘‘Well now, I don’t know what you 
think,” began Miss Hannah grimly, “but 
I’ll tell you what I think — that she has it 
dreadful often for common headache ; and 
if ’twas me I should expect it meant trou- 
ble — softening of the brain or something.” 


10 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Not very likely ; soft things never come 
to our house. It might be hardening of the 
brain, if there is any such thing,” replied 
Louise. 

‘‘Well, you don’t know,” pursued Miss 
Hannah. “We can’t ever tell what’s just 
afore us ; and if ’twas me I’d consider it my 
duty to keep thinking about it and get re- 
signed.” 

“ I don’t,” retorted Louise promptly. 
“There are plenty of things already here 
that I’m not the least bit resigned to yet, 
and I don’t mean to take any work of that 
sort ahead ; I’ve got enough to last me a life- 
time now and she picked up her package 
and departed. 

“ Queer child !” said Miss Hannah shortly. 

“ Poor child !” said Miss Puey pityingly. 

“ ’Tain’t every one,” remarked Miss Han- 
nah reflectively, “ that feels as I do about 
the duty of resignation. Why, the other 
night, when the fire-bells waked me, I just 
began to think what if our little place and 
store and everything should catch fire and 
burn, and we not be able to save a thing, and 
lose all our savings, and be turned out at our 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


11 


time of life, and maybe have to bring up at 
the poorliouse ; and I tell you what, it looked 
hard : I didn’t know how I’d stand it. And 
then says I, ‘ You’d have to ;’ and I set my 
teeth and wrastled with myself, and wrastled 
till I really got sort of resigned ’fore I went 
to sleep.” 

Into the house across the street another 
step soon followed Louise’s — a light, girlish 
step — but it paused uncertainly on the 
threshold. 

Why, how dark it is here !” exclaimed 
the newcomer. 

Not very. It seems so because you have 
just come from the street and the lamps,” 
answered the mother. 

I can’t see anything,” replied the girl, 
but, guided by the voice, she made her way 
to her mother’s side : How is the headache 
now ?” Then, comprehending intuitively the 
gloomy thoughts that had gathered in the 
gloomy twilight, she went on, without wait- 
ing for reply : ‘‘ I do believe it is working so 
hard that makes your head trouble you so. 
You shall have a chance to rest, mother 
dear, if once I get that clerkship. I shall 


12 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


just drop you down in an easy-chair some- 
where, and not let you do anything until 
you are rested and strong.” 

‘‘ Ah ! if, Susie ! There’s such an if in 
the way !” said the mother wearily. 

Not such a very big one, after all,” 
laughed the girl. At least, it doesn’t look 
so now,” she continued, while Louise, bring- 
ing a light into the room, paused to listen. 
“ I saw Miss May to-day, and she says she 
overheard Mr. Lester telling some one that 
they expected to give me a place in the store, 
and thought there would be room for me 
soon. So it seems almost settled — doesn’t 
it ? — even though they haven’t sent us word 
yet. You must cheer up, motherling, in 
honor of your successful daughter.” Then 
suddenly dropping her playful tone, she ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ Oh, what a help it will be to all 
of us! won’t it?” 

If it comes,” answered the mother again, 
but she said it more cheerfully. 

Cheering the others was Susie’s vocation 
— not so much by conscious effort as by her- 
self. Sunny, brave and hopeful, ready to do 
and quick to plan, not easily cast down, and 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


13 


the first to see land in any sea of troubles, 
was she ; so she clung joyously to this frag- 
ment of good tidings. 

‘‘I'm so glad I went out this afternoon, 
else I shouldn't have heard that !" she said 
as with a quick glance at the old clock she 
coaxed the smouldering fire of the grate into 
a blaze and began to spread the table for 
supper. “ I scarcely knew whether to go or 
not, it was so stormy, and I had to hurry to 
finish my sewing." 

“ Should think it had been done in a 
hurry," observed Louise, lifting the garment 
on which her sister had been working. 

“ Why, what is wrong with it ?" questioned 
Susie, pausing midway in her sentence. 

“Sleeve wrong side out," replied Louise 
briefiy. 

“ No ! Is it ? Why, how could I have 
made such a blunder?" cried Susie in dis- 
may, putting down the cups and saucers she 
held and going to her sister's side. “ I have, 
really. Well, it was so dark here to-day 
that I could scarcely see what I was doing. 
I hope the work I carried home was all 
right. I shall have to rip this out — not tOr 


14 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


night, though, for our lights are so poor 
lately that it’s hard to do anything by 
them.” 

“I don’t know what they’d be doing in 
this house if they were not poor,” said 
Louise. 

Very different the two girls were standing 
there together. Susie was the elder by four 
years, but her lighter hair and eyes and the 
changing color in her face made her look 
younger for her age than did her sister. She 
only laughed at the speech, so like Louise. 

‘‘Wait until I secure my position and we 
revel in gas and such luxuries. How glad 
Nat will be !” she added, returning to her 
hopeful thought again. 

Nat came while the words were still on 
her lips — a boy freckled-faced, large-handed, 
coarsely clothed, somewhere between the 
two girls in age, but with a stoop in his 
shoulders, as if burdens had fallen too early 
upon them. This was all that ordinary ob- 
servers would have seen in Nat, but then 
they would not have known, as Susie, Louise 
and the mother did, how hard he worked for 
his family, and how kind and patient he 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


15 


was ; how ready to bring the coal and water 
to save them labor ; how much of their slen- 
der income he earned ; how he insisted that 
he could do without anything new a little 
longer, and that the money had better be 
spent for some one else ; how he went away 
whistling to his work in the woolen mills in 
the early morning, and would never ac- 
knowledge that he was more than middling 
tired” when he came home at night. 

He was pleased at Susie’s story, and al- 
most as sanguine as she. 

‘‘ I should think they’d take you if they 
want any one,” he said with boyish admira- 
tion of his pretty sister. ‘‘ You’re so quick 
at handling ribbons and such things, I’m 
sure you’d make a good clerk.” 

“And catch the true clerkly indifferent 
air perhaps, wear my hair frizzled and my 
dress ruffled to a wonderful extent, and look 
at customers in a patronizing way — so,” 
laughed Susie, dropping her hands languid- 
ly and lifting her eyebrows in imitation of 
a specimen of young-ladyhood-behind-the- 
counter that she had met a few days before. 

Her brightness was infectious. Even the 


16 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


mother smiled as they gathered around the 
table, and sipping her tea said it had done 
her good. She was rich in her children, she 
whispered comfortingly to her heart that 
had been so sore that day. 

Suddenly the cheery talk hushed as a 
hand fumbled at the door. There was an- 
other member of the family — one so uncer- 
tain in his coming that they never waited 
for him now. Every one looked up uneasily 
as he entered, a quick, anxious questioning 
in all their glances, and something of alarm 
in little Billy’s blue eyes ; but it passed, and 
all drew an inaudible breath of relief as 
the man threw aside his slouched hat and 
came with sullen, averted look, but quietly, 
to the table. 

He was served in nervous haste with all 
the board afforded. The mother passed him 
a cup of the tea, which had evidently lost 
its relish for her, for she did not taste it 
again ; but, except for a remark or two of 
hers, unanswered, no one attempted to drive 
the gloom from his brow by conversation ; 
no one even mentioned Susie’s golden hopes 
to him ; and a troubled silence fell upon the 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


17 


circle. He did not linger long, however ; he 
arose first, and taking up his hat went im- 
mediately out again. 

It was like the slow lifting of a cloud. 
Billy’s childish talk began once more — be- 
gan with a stab that reached the mother’s 
heart : ‘‘ Jim Sykes says if he had a father 
like mine he’d run off and never live with 
him no more, so he would ! and lock the 
door too !” But a moment later he touched 
a safer topic, and gradually they all resumed, 
in part at least, the tone of the earlier even- 
ing. Such interruptions were, alas ! so com- 
mon ! 

Susie, gathering up the tea-things, stum- 
bled over a footstool standing in the broad 
glow of the firelight, and when Louise won- 
dered at her awkwardness Nat playfully de- 
clared that she was so uplifted with her 
grand prospects that she could see nothing 
at her feet. And when, a little later, she at- 
tempted to aid Billy in mastering an arith- 
metic lesson, and gravely held the book up- 
side down while she stared in perplexity at 
the page, they all laughed at her abstraction, 
despite her protest that the light was dim. 


18 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Two pairs of worn little boots settled 
themselves upon the battered old fender as 
Susie and Louise lingered for their custom- 
ary talk over the dying fire after the others 
had bidden good-night. To be sure, the talk 
was chiefly Susie’s, but Louise was more 
communicative in these firelit half hours 
with her sister than at any other time. This 
night she began the conversation, striking 
through all glittering ‘‘ perh apses ” and pos- 
sibilities to see what solid ground might be 
under them. 

You really think you will get that 
place. Sue?” 

“ Yes, I do,” answered Susie slowly. 
‘‘You see, Mr. Lester spoke encouragingly 
at first — said they might need some one this 
fall, and afterward promised tliat if they 
did he would send for me. And now Miss 
May overheard him mention me by name 
and say they should send for me soon. Yes, 
I can’t help feeling pretty sure about it now ; 
and oh, I am so glad !” 

“ And if you get it,” pursued Louise the 
practical, “ what will you do for clothes ? 
The girls in stores dress nicely — I suppose 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


19 


they have to ; they wouldn’t want anybody 
that didn’t — and you have scarcely any- 
thing.” 

“ Well,” began Susie, facing this problem, 
this dress — ” touching the one she wore. 

Is a calico, and you can’t wear it much 
longer ; it’s out of season now — if we had 
any seasons to our dresses,” interrupted 
Louise. 

“ There’s my brown one — ” 

‘‘ The only one you have, and a good deal 
worn at that,” said Louise, concluding the 
sentence again. I suppose the other clerks 
will think it a dreadfully poor affair.” 

Susie’s face clouded for a moment. She 
had her share of girlish pride and sensitive- 
ness, though she had found little opportunity 
to gratify one or shield the other. 

“ Well,” she said with a faint laugh that 
had a touch of pain in it, “ if I have but the 
one dress, there will be no question of what 
I shall wear; and after all, Louise, it will 
not look so badly brightened up with fresh 
collars and pretty white aprons — ” 

‘‘ Apron,” corrected Louise gravely. 
‘‘ You know we have but one decent one 


20 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


between us, and we shouldn't have had that 
if we hadn’t saved instead of wearing it.” 

It shall take the place of aprons anyway, 
if I do have to wash and iron it nearly every 
night to have it fresh for morning,” said 
Susie determinedly. ‘‘ And I don’t care 
what the others think of my dress. Yes I 
do, too ; but I’ll look as well as I can, and 
try not to mind any more than I can help 
until I can get something new. Oh, Louise ! 
this will be worth so much to us ! Mother 
can do part of the sewing that comes in, and 
she will not need to work so hard, and we 
shall not. have to pinch so dreadfully or do 
without so many things. It rests me only to 
think of it.” 

Even in their planning they were differ- 
ent. Susie drifted into some bright dream- 
ing for the far future, while Louise, with her 
dark eyes fixed on the dull red coals, soberly 
considered how much the clerkship would be 
worth per month, and what they could best 
and first do with the money earned. 

‘'Hark! Father is coming,” said Louise, 
suddenly starting up. 

The door was pushed noiselessly open, and 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


21 


there entered — the same in dress and stature, 
but utterly unlike in face and manner — the 
one who had appeared at the table. He 
came forward unsteadily, hut smiling broadly 
and rubbing his hands together as in an ex- 
uberance of complacency and good-feeling. 

« My girls sitting up for me, hey ? — ’fec- 
tionate and lovely, like salubrious summer,’’ 
he ejaculated admiringly. 

Louise turned sharply away to fasten the 
shutters for the night, but he stooped and 
kissed Susie, stumbling against her as he did 
so. She did not repulse him, for he was her 
father ; she did not answer him by word or 
smile, for he was not himself, and his dem- 
onstration not love, but maudlin sentiment- 
ality. She had known a father’s kisses in 
her early childhood, and they were not like 
this. 

“Where is — yer mother?” questioned Mr. 
Sheldon, steadying himself against the man- 
telpiece. 

“ Gone to bed,” replied Louise briefly. 

“ ’Posing after the toils of the day — sleep 
of innocence ’n’ virtue,” commented Mr. 
Sheldon poetically. “ Prize yer mother, 


22 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


girls, prize her ! Es’mable woman ! She’s 
been the very dog-star of my prosperity.” 
Then he announced with an air of satisfac- 
tion, ‘‘ I’ve planned great relief for her ardu- 
ous duties. Saw a first-class well to-day, ’n’ 
can buy it cheap. She’ll have no more trou- 
ble ’bout water. I’ll have it moved in back 
yard ’mediately — provide perennial fountain 
for my wife.” 

“She is provided with a perennial foun- 
tain of wretchedness,” muttered Louise as 
her father staggered away to his room and 
she and her sister passed up the uncarpeted 
stairs to their chamber. 

There were those who considered “ Dad 
Sheldon’s” grandiloquent speeches exceed- 
ingly amusing — those even who would fur- 
nish him the means of intoxication for the 
sake of the entertainment he afforded when 
liquor had so loosened his tongue that they 
could prevail upon him to “ deliver an ora- 
tion.” But at home they failed to appreci- 
ate this diversion or to discover in it cause 
for laughter. 

“ Little danger of my being too much 
elated with any good that can come to me 


THE SHADOWED HOME. 


23 


while I must bear this burden,” thought 
Susie sadly. 

Louise deposited her lamp upon a table 
and walking to a window stood there silent- 
ly. Across back yards and alleys she could 
look to where lights shone from the windows 
of a large house opposite — a handsome house 
fronting on another and quite different street 
from the one on which the Sheldons lived. 
The name blazoned on its silver door-plate 
was the same that decorated the signs of two 
liquor-saloons down town, and there was for 
Louise a strange fascination in watching the 
lights from these windows. 

I suppose they do not shine from just 
such apartments as this ; carpets and furni- 
ture may be of different style,” she mused, 
turning away from the outlook to the bare 
room around her. 

Susie had whispered ‘‘ Our Father which 
art in heaven ” before she nestled her head 
upon her pillow ; it was a sort of matter-of- 
course prayer kept up from her childhood. 
But Louise, being practical as well as honest, 
always stopped midway in these later years 
at ‘‘ Forgive us our debts as we forgive our 


24 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


debtors/' That petition gave her a very- 
curious sensation in connection with the 
flashing lights of the great house opposite, 
and she could not separate the two. So she 
dropped the concluding sentence, and substi- 
tuted — more as a form, alas ! than a prayer 
— some words from an old prayer-book : ‘‘ In 
all time of our tribulation, good Lord, de- 
liver us !" 


CHAPTER II. 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 

T^EEKS passed, and the longed-for offer 
» » came to Susie — the place she had so 
dreamed of and coveted ; but she did not 
accept it. In the intervening days some- 
thing else had come to her — unsought, un- 
thought of at first, struggled against to the 
last Slowly but surely it came, precluding 
the possibility of accepting the other. 

There were so many mistakes in the sew- 
ing, growing more and more frequent. She 
marveled that she, who was wont to be so 
careful and deft a seamstress, had suddenly 
grown so careless. Usually, too, some one 
else discovered the blunder first. She began 
to wonder too why they had so many dark 
days; the sunlight seemed never to come 
brightly into the little sitting-room any more, 
and at night the lamps burned so dimly that 


26 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


she could not see to work by them, though 
the others did not complain. 

Then she began to notice, standing at door 
or window, how indistinct all objects on 
the opposite side of the street appeared ; and 
one day, studying Miss Hannah’s modest 
sign, she called in a startled tone to her sis- 
ter, 

‘‘ Louise, is the street smoky or foggy, or 
anything of that sort, to-day ?” 

“ Why, no,” answered Louise wonderingly, 
“ Don’t you see it isn’t ?” 

“ Not the least bit foggy ?” questioned 
Susie anxiously. 

No.” 

“ And can you read the sign over the 
store ?” 

‘‘Of course.” 

“ If you didn’t know what it was ? if you 
had never seen it before ?” 

“Yes; every letter is plain enough. 
Why, Sue, what is the matter ?” for a sud- 
den pallor swept over her sister’s face. 

“ Oh, Louise, something is wrong with my 
eyes ! The letters are all a confused mass 
to me. Oh, what shall I do?” 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


27 


The cry was one of terror as she recalled 
the experience of the weeks past and under- 
stood at last its meaning. But in a few mo- 
ments she grew hopeful again. 

Her mother came to her, solicitous, 
troubled, but comforting. 

“ You have been trying your eyes so much 
of late,” she said after some anxious ques- 
tioning. “ You have worked so much on 
dark goods and by lamplight that you have 
weakened them until everything looks 
blurred and dim. You must let them rest 
now until they grow stronger.” 

Susie was reassured. Her eyes were tired, 
only tired — that must be all. It was hard 
to spare time for idleness now, but a few 
days might be all that would be needed. 
And how fortunate that this had happened 
now, if it must come at all, instead of later, 
when she might be wanted at the store ! So 
she laid aside her work with a smile and a 
sigh, shaded her eyes carefully from the light, 
indulged in long restful naps, and used the 
washes Miss Hannah and Miss Huey recom- 
mended. She suffered no pain, and the 
tired orbs must surely be growing stronger. 


28 


VAGABOND AND VICTOB. 


she thought, as she waited with what patience 
she could to resume her work. 

But when, after more than a week of this 
treatment, she threw aside the shade and 
stood once more at the window, the street 
was more misty than before, the sign dim- 
mer, and she could no longer distinguish 
the persons passing in and out at the shop- 
door. The mother sent for a physician then 
— a grave, reticent man — who questioned 
with slow minuteness into every symptom, 
betraying by no look whether the answer 
boded good or ill ; examining the eyes care- 
fully in the fullest possible light, and occu- 
pying a time that seemed interminable to 
the trembling Susie and the apprehensive 
mother and sister. When, at last, his ex- 
amination was concluded, they could not 
wholly understand his learned explanation 
of the trouble — of cause and effect — but slow- 
ly through it all the bitter truth revealed 
itself ; the sight was fading out of those 
young eyes; gradually but surely it would 
decrease, and he had no power to arrest the 
disease. 

“ Oh, doctor, you do not mean that ? Is 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


29 


there nothing that can be done — nothing ?” 
questioned the mother despairingly, 

“ Nothing that I can do, madam — nothing 
here. If she could go to New York and be 
under the care of Dr. S , she might de- 

rive great benefit — might, indeed, recover 
entirely. I should judge it quite probable. 
In an institution like that, devoted to a sin- 
gle class of cases, there are of course many 
resources at command which are impossible 

to use in ordinary practice ; and Dr. S 

has been remarkably successful.” 

He bowed himself out, and Susie’s dim 
eyes watched him hopelessly as he passed up 
the street. It was so sudden, so awful, this 
black veil dropping down over all her fu- 
ture ! She sat stunned and silent, trying to 
realize her own identity — that it was out of 
her world so much was going — all the glory 
of earth and sky, the books and occupations 
she cared for, the faces she loved, — all slip- 
ping away to leave her in loneliness and 
darkness. 

The mother came to her side and passed 
her hand caressingly over the bright hair : 

‘‘ My Susie ! my poor lamb !” 


30 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


How tender the touch was ! how toil- 
worn and hardened the hands ! Dear 
mother -hands that had done so much 
through all the years! and now she could 
never lighten their work any more — never 
spare them or rest them, as she had so hoped 
to do — never again be any help to these who 
so needed her, but only a care and burden 
always. That was the bitterest thought of 
all. 

Oh, I cannot bear it I” she cried in an- 
guish. 

The mother only drew her arms closer 
around the girl. She attempted no word of 
consolation ; she could think of none for 
herself. 

Louise hurried out of the room, and 
avoided Susie’s presence as far as possible 
all that day, attacking furiously, as if it 
were an enemy, whatever work was to be 
done, but scarcely uttering a syllable. But 
at evening, at the little store over the way, 
she was obliged to tell the story, for they 
had observed the physician’s call and were 
full of neighborly interest. 

“ Anybody sick at your house, or did the 


GATHERING CLOURS. 


31 


doctor come to see Susie’s eyes? Better, 
ain’t they ? And what did he say to what 
she’d been using, eh ? I know cold tea and 
quince-seed is good, any way,” questioned 
and affirmed Miss Hannah. 

‘‘ He said washes were of no use — nothing 
is ; and he can’t help her any ; her eyes will 
get worse.” Louise choked over the last 
word. 

“Worse? You don’t mean she’ll lose 
them ?” asked Miss Buey. 

Louise nodded silently. 

“ Going blind ! Oh dear !” exclaimed 
Miss Hannah, shocked and startled. “Why 
I never thought of such a thing ! I’d ought 
to, too, ’cause it’s something that might hap- 
pen to any of us, and we ought to be pre- 
pared. But it would take a tussle, I do say, 
to get resigned to that.” She closed her 
eyes with a sudden snap, as if to discover 
how it would seem to be deprived of those 
organs, and drew a long breath as she 
opened them again. “WYll, I suppose a 
body could if they wrastled long enough, 
but ’twould be tough. How does Susan 
seem to bear it?” 


32 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR, 


“ I don't know/’ said Louise briefly ; she 
could not bear to talk of it yet — the way 
folks do bear what they have to — some 
way.” 

“ Child, it may not be so hard, and there 
may be good in it yet ; don’t you be despair- 
ing,” said Miss Ruey gently. “ It looks 
black ahead, to be sure, but we’re all like 
the disciples on the mount ; they feared 
when they entered into the cloud, but after 
they were in they saw only the Lord and 
the messengers from heaven, you know.” 

No, Louise did not know ; if she had ever 
heard, she had forgotten, and she answered 
bitterly that with so many red eyes, bleared 
eyes and wicked eyes in the world that could 
well have been spared, she didn’t see why 
this need have come to poor Sue. She 
turned away then, but Miss Hannah de- 
tained her for a moment while she tied up a 
package of cream crackers for Susie. 

“ Not that I expect they’ll be anything 
like consolation — only a body has to eat, no 
matter how hard a wrastle they have on 
hand ; and cream crackers don’t taste so bad 
as some things,” she said grimly. 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


33 


Louise dropped the package in her sister’s 
lap with only the information that it was 
from Miss Hannah. But when she had 
passed out into the other room, and was 
alone again, some of the words she had 
turned from so sullenly came back to her. 
‘‘ The Lord and the messengers from heav- 
en there was a little sound of comfort in 
them, even for her. If such presence could 
come into this cloud ! The dim, half-formed 
thought was sufficient to make her repeat 
more earnestly and prayerfully than ever 
before her petition for deliverance in ‘‘ time 
of tribulation.” 

The sisters had not lingered for their even- 
ing talk that night — the planning seemed all 
done now — but when Louise had seen her 
sister safely in bed and extinguished the 
light and nestled down beside her in the 
darkness, she found it easier to speak, and 
whispered, with her arms around her, 

“ The doctors don’t know everything. Sue, 
and you shall go to New York !” 

It sounded incoherent enough, but Susie 
knew what it meant — that the physician 
might be mistaken in his opinion, and if not 

3 


34 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


she should still have done for her the utmost 
that skill could do. But Susie dared not en- 
tertain the hope ; she saw no way in which 
the promise could be fulfilled, though she 
had been thinking of it all the day. Al- 
ready such words were beginning to seem to 
her like helpless voices outside thick prison- 
walls that shut her in, and she answered 
wearily, 

‘‘ It is of no use, Louise.’’ 

A new compassionate tenderness in every 
one around her touched and wounded, com- 
forted and pained her, countless times daily 
as the week wore on. The care was sweet, 
but its cause so terrible ! Even her father 
seemed shocked and grieved into something 
more like his olden self than he had been 
for a long time ; and for a day or two he 
came home regularly, lingering by her side 
to question and talk with her, and suggest 
remedies that might be tried, until a faint 
hope dawned in the mother’s heart that the 
darkness gathering about his child might 
open his eyes to clearer light. It was a de- 
lusive dream, soon ended ; for as Susie grew 
worse instead of better, he strove to drown 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


35 


what sorrow and disappointment he had felt 
in the same liquid that had drowned so 
many other things — hope, usefulness and 
manhood — and pursued his accustomed 
course but the more recklessly for the brief 
pause. 

It was pitiful to watch the stricken girl, 
all her blithe brightness gone, her face 
paling and losing its roundness. 

“ I used to think I was brave, but I am 
not,’’ she said one day, laying her head in 
her mother’s lap as she often did now — drop- 
ping again into a habit of her childhood, as 
if the mother-love could shield or help. 

Sometimes she sat for a while with closed 
eyes, as if trying to accustom herself to the 
gloom and blankness that were coming ; 
then again she strained them eagerly in 
the effort to improve every precious moment 
of sight, watching intently the most common 
objects passing in the narrow street. She 
clung with feverish eagerness to whatever 
of the household tasks she could still per- 
form, insisting upon helping even with the 
sewing, basting where she could no longer 
see to stitch — longing to crowd the days with 


36 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


the utmost possible helpfulness. Frequent 
mistakes there were in these earnest efforts 
— odd blunderings and mismatchings, such 
as had been laughed at a few weeks before. 
Nobody smiled at them now ; they had sud- 
denly grown pathetic, as little commonplace 
things so often do in these strange lives of 
ours. No one pointed them out to the pa- 
tient worker. They were quietly rectified 
when she did not observe it, such oppor- 
tunities, alas ! growing more and more 
numerous. 

Sometimes she made her way across the 
street, going slowly, observing the exact po- 
sition of gate and door, noticing every irreg- 
ularity in the crossing, that she might re- 
member it all and find her way when she 
could no longer see it. In the cosy little 
room back of the store she was always sure 
of a welcome, even though she disappointed 
Miss Hannah, who started forward briskly 
in expectation of a customer when the bell 
tinkled : 

‘‘ Oh, it’s you, child ? Come right in, 
then. Glad to see you.” 

‘‘And I’m glad to see you,” Susie an- 


GATHEBINO CLOUDS, 


37 


swered to the familiar greeting one day, with 
a faint sad emphasis on the word that had 
grown to mean so much to her. 

“ Well, I suppose so — though, to be sure, I 
ain’t no great things to look at,” replied Miss 
Hannah reflectively ; “ but I might be worse. 
I remember the time I was taken sick, and 
the doctor said I had the small-pox — least- 
ways, he didn’t say it to me, but I heard 
him say something about it after he had just 
stepped into another room — and I thought I 
knew what that meant. ‘ Dear me !’ says I 
to myself, ‘ your eyes kind of squinted, and 
your hair was sandy and you was tall and 
scranny before; and now, if your face has 
got to be like a nutmeg-grater, how you will 
look !’ Well, I worried and wrastled with 
that idea for three or four days. And 
there ! when I’d got reconciled I found 
there hadn’t been a thing the matter with 
me but the measles. But, any way, I’d got 
prepared,” she concluded in a tone of satis- 
faction. 

‘‘But if you had thought you should 
never see your face again, nor any others 
dearer than your own — that long, dreadful 


38 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


years were coming when you couldn’t help 
any one and must be a hindrance and bur- 
den — ” Susie’s voice faltered. ‘‘ I’d rather 
die !” 

‘‘Child, don’t you go to talking that 
way,” said Miss Hannah severely, though 
her eyes moistened and her heart was more 
tender than her words. “ It ain’t right. 
This is a world where we need a good deal 
of fortitude, for we can’t tell what’s going to 
happen, and we ought to be ready for it. 
We’ve got to bear things, and I try to keep 
myself braced up. Now, the other night I 
thought about robbers — there’s been so 
many store burglaries lately — ‘What if some 
one should break in here, take all our money, 
and murder us both in our beds ?’ ” 

“ Dear me ! I shouldn’t think it would be 
worth while. Why, we hardly ever have 
more than ten dollars at a time,” interposed 
Miss Huey, viewing the matter in the light 
of a speculation. 

“That’s no difference. If anybody had 
made up his mind to rob, he wouldn’t 
stop long to haggle about what he’d get,” 
insisted Miss Hannah. “ It isn’t best to be 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


39 


too sure things won’t happen. I heard a 
man say once that he wasn’t afraid of rob- 
bers, and the very next week his cousin had 
her pocket picked.” 

Under this reproof Miss Ruey thrust her 
hand rather nervously into her own pocket, 
but her handkerchief, thimble and bit of 
‘‘sweet flag” were safe. Then, as the sharp 
jingle of the bell called her sister into the 
store, she turned again to Susie, who still sat 
with her face half shaded by her hand, and 
said pityingly, 

“ It is hard, dear, but the Lord can help 
it. There’s never anything so bad that it 
gets beyond that, and it’s such a comfort ! 
Try not to think much about the long years, 
for maybe they’ll never come. They can 
only come just day by day, and there’s 
strength promised that way, you know.” 

Susie did not understand the allusion. 
She was not familiar with the Word that 
was to Miss Ruey as the air she breathed. 
The Bible was in the Sheldon family indeed, 
and they considered it a sacred book, but it 
was not often opened. The mother read a 
few chapters now and then, especially when 


40 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Sunday brought her an unwonted hour of 
leisure; and the girls sometimes followed 
her example, because it seemed a fitting and 
proper thing to do — read with a sort of awe, 
not even expecting to understand very much 
of it, and without a thought of bringing all 
its characters, teachings and promises into 
contact with their own daily life. They 
went to church occasionally, when they had 
clothing that they thought suitable, but 
never regularly anywhere. 

It had been difierent with the mother in 
her girlhood. There was a little country 
church that had even held her name among 
its members ; and when she first came to the 
city, a young wife, she had been glad to an- 
swer the call of the church-bells. But af- 
terward, when her husband began to decline 
going, now upon one pretext, now upon an- 
other, she did not find it pleasant to go alone. 
Then the children came, and she was sel- 
dom able to go ; and in a few years the great 
trouble of her life had begun — the madness 
and sin that had ruined her husband and 
filled her cup with poverty, care and shame. 
The once-promising young lawyer had grad- 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


41 


ually lost the business entrusted to him, and 
had been obliged to relinquish his office. 
Then he had obtained some employment at 
copying and kindred work, until he could no 
longer be relied upon to fulfill his engage- 
ments or trusted with any important doc- 
uments. After that his occupations had 
grown less responsible and more fitful, and it 
was long now since he had aspired to any 
steady employment, or seemed to care to do 
much more than to keep himself supplied 
with liquor. 

The mother had kept the children in school 
as long as she could, but the older ones had 
been obliged to leave early — Susie to assist 
with the sewing, Nat to go into the mill. 
She had sent them to Sunday-school too — 
a part of the time, at least, when she could 
fit them for going. But as they grew old 
enough to notice the clothing of others around 
them and become sensitive concerning their 
own, they had one by one ceased even that 
spasmodic attendance; only little Billy went 
now. 

It had been a sad mistake on the mother’s 
part, this withdrawal of herself and family 


42 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


from all such associations, and it had added 
to her burden of care and sorrow in a way 
that she did not fully comprehend until long 
afterward. With no church-home or church- 
friends to hold them, the family in that busy 
city drifted away beyond knowledge and help 
into an isolation and friendlessness that would 
otherwise have been impossible, and also into 
ignorance of the strong refuge of truth and 
promise that might have brought strength 
and hope. 

So it happened that Susie, listening to Miss 
Ruey, did not know the promise to which she 
referred; but presently those words about 
the Lord’s help awakened a memory and a 
thought : 

‘‘ When he was on earth he did hear the 
blind, didn’t he? They could go to him 
then.” 

‘‘ Can yet,” interrupted Miss Ruey. 

‘‘ If he were only here now ! if he would 
ever pass along this street!” thought poor 
Susie as she made her slow way homeward, 
coming now, for the first time in her life, to 
a conscious need of him. It was this feeling 
that made her take down the old Bible, and 


GATHERING CLOUDS. 


43 


bringing its large print close to the window 
begin to scan its pages despite her mother’s 
half remonstrance. It could not hurt her 
eyes, nothing pained them, and she wanted 
to recall the half-remembered story. It had 
gained a new interest — not as showing any- 
thing that could happen to her, but only 
something that had been done for others 
like her, and she could understand now how 
much it must have meant to them. 

There was a strange, sad pleasure in the 
reading, slow and difficult as it was; and 
after that, day by day, when the light was 
clear enough for her to pick out the words, 
she turned to the stories of those who were 
healed, picturing it all to herself — the crowd- 
ed streets, the anxious friends, the pale faces 
of the stricken ones who had watched so long 
for this coming. Then the thrill of his touch 
and voice, and the sudden gladness and ador- 
ing gratitude ! She could faintly understand 
what that last might be. 

“ If Susie could go to New York !” That 
was the constant burden of thought with the 
mother, brother and sister. The place that 
had been offered to Susie in an up-town 


44 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


store could not be bestowed upon Louise — 
she was too young — and it was so hard to 
earn enough for even their most common 
daily wants that the thought of securing 
the additional sum required for such a jour- 
ney seemed almost an impossibility. 

Yet Susie must go. Even though it were 
long in coming, the money must some way 
be earned. Nat began to look about for 
extra bits of work that could be done at 
night, and the mother toiled indefatigably. 

Louise came to her after an unusually 
silent day : 

I can’t help you so very much about the 
sewing, mother.” 

“ Not so much as you can when you are 
older and have learned more about it.” 

“And if I could get a place somewhere, 
in some family, I could earn more. You 
wouldn’t mind?” 

“ Louise, you couldn’t do it. You are not 
strong enough.” There was a quick pain in 
the mother’s voice. 

“Something that I could do, something 
light. You would let me ?” questioned the 
girl eagerly. 


GATHERING CLOUDS, 


45 


For Susie’s sake the mother slowly assent- 
ed, and Louise nodded as if some project in 
her own mind were settled. 

At last there came a morning when, sit- 
ting in the broad glow of the sunlight, Susie 
startled the others by exclaiming at the sud- 
den closing of the shutters: ‘‘Why, how 
strange ! They must have blown shut, and 
I didn’t notice any wind. It is dark as 
night here.” 

There was one terrible moment of silence ; 
then Louise answered in an awed, hushed 
voice : 

“ They are open, Susie.” 

“Open?” She turned a frightened, un- 
seeing glance to the two faces near her, and 
stretched out her arms with a bitter cry : “ It 
has come ! Oh, mother ! mother !” 


CHAPTEE III. 

THE BARCLAYS. 

I T had been snowing all night in the old 
town and on the rugged mountains be- 
yond — a slow, steady snow, that had silently 
robed all the landscape in white when Jessie 
Barclay, standing by a low window, looked 
out upon it. Within the scene was glowing 
and warm as summer itself. A cheery fire 
blazed and sparkled in the grate, lighting up 
the breakfast-table with its glossy damask, 
white coffee-cups and pretty old-fashioned 
silver. Bright roses looked out from the 
soft ‘ green of the carpet, sunny pictures 
gleamed on the walls, and flowering plants 
and trailing vines filled the wide south win- 
dow. But away from these familiar beauties 
Jessie held little Blossom to look out on the 
snowy street, where ambitious boys were al- 
ready rolling balls and drawing sleds, her 

46 


THE BARCLAYS. 


47 


own gaze meanwhile wandering farther 
away. 

‘‘ How beautiful the mountains must look 
this morning, with the snow bending down 
the dark evergreens and lying in patches 
over the rough rocks !” she said, turning to 
her husband, who was slowly donning his 
overcoat before the fire. Even mining will 
be picturesque this morning. Cade.” 

“ I fear the miners will fail to appreciate 
it,” he answered, rather dryly. ‘‘This snow 
will only look to them like the settling down 
of winter — a long, cold winter — aggravating 
the needs of those poor little cabins on the 
mountains, and making the reduced pay and 
poorer prospect for work this season a more 
gloomy outlook than ever.” 

Jessie’s bright face clouded. “ It is hard,” 
she said, as with a quick glance around the 
pleasant room and at her own comfortably- 
dressed, merry children, she thought of other 
mothers. “ I forget it sometimes, though I 
should not.” 

“ I did not mean that. You cannot take 
all burdens upon your own shoulders, little 
woman,” he answered, smiling gravely down 


48 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


into her tender, earnest eyes as she came to 
his side. I would forget it oftener myself, 
if I could, since I cannot help it.” 

‘‘ But you think it might be helped, that 
much of the hardship and privation could 
have been avoided, and that it is not neces- 
sary for the upper shaft to lie idle long ?” 
she questioned. 

“Mr. Leavitt says it is, and as he really 
controls the company, and has by far the 
largest amount of capital invested, he ought 
to know. There is water in the upper shaft, 
and various repairs are needed, so that it 
will cost a considerable sum to put it in 
running order. Mr. Leavitt insists that it 
would be folly to expend so much on it now, 
since the fall shipping is nearly over and 
the lower shaft can readily supply the win- 
ter demand — that it will be far more profit- 
able to allow it to lie idle until spring.” 

“ But you do not think so. Cade ?” 

“I am only the overseer of the mines, 
Jessie, not an owner. The money does not 
pass into or out of my pockets, and I cannot 
say what view I might take of the matter if 
I were in his place,” he answered slowly. 


THE BARCLAYS. 


49 

“ You do not agree with him, though ; I 
know you do not,^’ she persisted. 

“ No. Aside from all consideration for 
the miners and their families, I think it 
would pay better to work both shafts ; and I 
have told him so, but he naturally prefers 
his own judgment to mine on that subject.’’ 

‘‘ I don’t see why he should, when you are 
on the ground all the time, understand the 
business thoroughly, and know all its work- 
ings practically, while he only drives out 
now and then in his carriage, looks about 
for an hour, and really knows nothing about 
it,” she exclaimed indignantly. 

Her husband laughed : ‘‘ If you were Mr. 
Leavitt, how easily I could manage matters 
to suit myself! As I said before, my dear, 
he furnishes the money. But I think he is 
making a mistake,” he continued, thought- 
fully. I do not believe it will be profit- 
able, even financially, to have what work 
there is done by ill-paid, discontented men, 
working half-heartedly and brooding over 
their hardships, and to have about the shaft 
so many other men entirely idle all the win- 
ter. Foreigners most of them are, rough 


50 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


and ignorant, who will not understand the 
cause of the trouble, but will feel themselves 
wronged, and grow bitter and desperate, 
blaming everybody and everything indis- 
criminately, I’m afraid, after their blind 
fashion. Poor souls ! I pity them, but I 
can’t do much to help them.” 

‘‘And they often blame you too, I sup- 
pose?” said Jessie half questioningly. 

.“I suppose so, sometimes: it is natural. 
I have to hear their complaints without say- 
ing much, you know ; I cannot condemn the 
course of the company to them, and to some 
of them the ‘ Boss ’ represents almost un- 
limited power. The men down at the wharf, 
those who do the lading, are of a somewhat 
different sort — more intelligent, but I cannot 
say that they are better. They are gener- 
ally the talkers and ringleaders in all that 
goes on, and — By the way, Jessie, we have 
a new enterprise started on the mountain 
lately — a large cabin, built and furnished for 
a drinking-saloon. I suspect that business 
will flourish even in these dull times.” 

“ Oh, Cade, what a shame ! As if pov- 
erty, scant work and poor pay were not bad 


THE BARCLAYS. 


51 


enough, without their spending what little 
they do earn in that way, and robbing their 
families of the last cent! Could no one 
have hindered it?’’ 

“ I do not suppose there was much effort 
to do so. When Mr. Leavitt learned of it 
he merely said that a warm, bright room 
where they could crowd together was about 
the only enjoyment they knew, and if they 
drank there it was no more than they were 
sure to do somewhere; so he didn’t know 
that it was worth while to object to the 
place. Perhaps he thought objections would 
not avail anything, and that stronger meas- 
ures might arouse resentment among the 
miners themselves. Perhaps he really did 
not care ; I do not know. At any rate, the 
cabin has been erected, and the new sign 
was swung out yesterday.” 

‘‘And it will make everything worse than 
before. Those poor wives and mothers!” 
said Jessie sadly. 

“ What difference it will make remains to 
be seen. As Mr. Leavitt says, they will 
drink, many of them, wherever they have to 
go for it. I fear it more now because there 


52 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


is SO much enforced idleness. However, we 
must wait and see. You haven’t once re- 
minded me of your favorite proverb about 
‘ not crossing a bridge till one comes to it 
and the winter may not prove so hard, after 
all,” he concluded more lightly as he noticed 
his wife’s troubled look. ‘‘ We will do the 
best we can for them, Jessie, and then we 
must leave the rest. Now bring Blossom to 
th-e piazza to wave me good-bye. I should 
have been off* before this time, instead of 
loitering to burden you with my worries and 
vexations.” 

“Oitrs,” corrected Jessie with a tender 
smile that claimed her share in whatever 
came to him. 

A pretty picture she made, standing on 
the piazza with the baby’s golden head lean- 
ing against her brown one, a scarlet shawl 
thrown around them both, and her four boys 
clustering at her feet — a sweet picture of 
home love and comfort — Cade Barclay 
thought, looking back as he mounted his 
horse to ride away, and calling to her by the 
name he often gave when he saw her in the 
midst of her small kingdom : 


THE BARCLAYS. 


53 


“ Good-bye, Qaeenie.” 

A chorus of good-byes answered, followed 
by a parting volley of snow-balls — no one 
of which reached the gate — from the ardent 
but inexpert quartette on the steps. 

Another had glanced at the group ad- 
miringly — a young girl walking slowly up 
the street ; and as the horseman rode away 
she unfastened the gate and entered, making 
her way half up the walk unnoticed while 
the mother was laughingly directing her 
rosy marksmen to take the old apple tree 
for a target and try again.” 

Somebody coming,” said little Rob, sud- 
denly pausing with ball upraised. 

Thus announced, the girl drew near. 

“Do you know of any one who needs 
help — a nursery-girl?” she asked. 

Mrs. Barclay laughed. 

“ I do look as if I ought to know, surely,” 
she said with a glance at her rollicking band. 
“ I keep some one to help me with these lit- 
tle people usually, but I have no one now. 
Are you used to the care of children ?” 

“ No’m.” 

“ I thought you looked too young to have 


54 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


had much experience. It is entirely new 
work, then ? Do you think you would like 
it ? Do you like children 

“I don’t know.” The girl seemed paus- 
ing to consider the subject. ‘‘ I do not know 
any children well except my own little 
brother. I love him, of course,” she an- 
swered slowly, with simple honesty. 

And what is your name ?” 

“Louise Sheldon.” 

“Well, Louise” — the lady hesitated a 
moment, but the face with its grave, dark 
eyes attracted her — “ I do need help. The 
work is light, but it requires a girl who is 
kind, patient and obliging to be of much use 
with little children. You may try the place 
if you wish. You cannot tell what you can 
do anywhere until you do try.” 

The serious eyes brightened a little, but 
Louise answered briefly, 

“Thank you. I’ll go home and let my 
mother know, and come back right away, 
if you please.” 

“ Have I done an unwise thing,” Mrs. 
Barclay wondered, watching the retiring form, 
“ in engaging so hastily a girl of whom I know 


THE BARCLAYS, 


55 


nothing?” Her hands had been entirely too 
full in the week that had elapsed since good- 
natured Norah had left “ to go to school wid 
the sisters, an’ get a bit of lamin’,” but she 
had not thought of supplying the departed 
student’s place except by careful inquiry 
and upon good recommendation. She had 
acted impulsively, certainly ; but foolishly ? 
She was not sure of that. She relied much 
upon her own reading of a face, and, more- 
over, she was not a mother to trust her chil- 
dren wholly to any care apart from her own 
supervision. She needed some one to amuse 
them, to attend to the countless little wants 
that cost so many steps, and to take Baby 
Blossom for her daily airing ; but usually 
the girl would be under her own watchful 
eye. 

“And some one must give her a first 
chance,” she said, concluding her mental 
review. 

Louise returned promptly, her face not 
betraying that tears had fallen upon it 
with her mother’s kiss, and that she had 
turned it resolutely away from her home and 
had not dared to look back at the window 


56 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


where poor Sue sat listening to the receding 
steps, but not seeing the retreating figure. 
She went quietly about her new duties, 
adapting herself to them readily. 

A wondrously still, sober maiden Mrs. 
Barclay thought her as the day wore on, 
noticing that, though quick, patient and at- 
tentive, all the children’s games did not wile 
her into talk or laughter. 

She did not dream how heavy the young 
heart was, nor how drearily homesick it 
grew as the evening shadows deepened 
and night fell. Poor child ! it was her first 
night away from home, and the thought of 
many long nights to come made her courage 
falter. She was so lonely in the pretty room, 
with the happy mother and the merry chil- 
dren watching for their father to come. She 
so longed to be again in the homely little sit- 
ting-room — to see her mother’s face, to get the 
supper for Nat. Oh, how could she ever do 
without them all ? 

‘‘ It’s for Sue’s sake, for Sue’s sake !” she 
whispered again and again to herself to nerve 
her sinking spirits ; but when she laid her 
head upon her pillow the thought of Sue 


TRE BARCLAYS. 


57 


occupying their little room alone brought to 
her eyes the hot tears that at last she could 
shed unnoticed. 

With the morning, bright and sunny, the 
prospect seemed not nearly so unendurable. 
The work was light, Mrs. Barclay and the 
children pleasant, and she was earning money 
for them all at home — money so sorely need- 
ed now. No, she must not waver in her reso- 
lution. And she assisted in dressing the chil- 
dren and carried Baby Blossom about with 
such readiness and earnest effort to please 
that Mrs. Barclay began to congratulate 
herself upon her new acquisition. 

Slowly four days passed — the longest of 
days they seemed to Louise — and then she 
asked leave to go home. The request was 
granted at once, and she hurried out and 
along the street as if her feet could not 
bear her fast enough. 

“ Louise’s step,” said Susie, already grow- 
ing quick to distinguish sounds, now that she 
must depend so much upon them for what- 
ever knowledge came to her. 

‘‘Louise! Louise!” echoed Billy, spring- 
ing forward to meet her. 


58 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


How sweet it was to see them all ! She 
dropped into a chair with a sigh of satisfac- 
tion, and looked hungrily about the room 
and at the dear faces as if she had been fam- 
ishing for a sight of them. They gathered 
about her with eager questions, and she told 
them of her work, of the house, its mistress 
and the children ; only answering their ques- 
tions, however, not talkative even then ; that 
would not have been Louise. Of her home- 
sick longing to see them all she said nothing 
beyond the one little sentence that burst forth 
impetuously : 

“ It has seemed a month since I went 
away !” 

The mother’s face lost something of its 
anxious look as she talked. She had so 
feared the girl might meet unkindness or 
be required to work beyond her strength — 
had doubted whether it had been right to 
allow her to go ; only that in their circum- 
stances she had not known how to oppose. 

And mother has something to show you. 
A letter, a real letter to her, with — No, I 
won’t tell what was in it,” said Billy, stop- 
ping himself suddenly in the midst of his 


THE BARCLAYS. 


59 


eager narrative, lest he should spoil a sur- 
prise. 

Letters to any of them were rare — her 
mother had not received one for years — and 
Louise looked up wonderingly. 

“ It does seem strange,” said the mother, 
bringing the letter from a drawer where it 
had been carefully laid away. ‘‘ It is from 
my old home, from a lawyer there — some 
one I do not know, the place and people 
have changed so in all these years. But 
they were settling up the estate of some man 
there, and among the claims against it they 
found a small one of my father’s. Probably 
it was something forgotten long ago, as my 
parents have been dead for years ; but it has 
come to light now, and they have sent the 
amount to me. ‘ A small sum,’ the lawyer 
called it, but fifteen dollars seems consider- 
able to us. We will lay this aside for — 
something she nodded toward Susie. 
‘‘ How strange it seems ! I feel almost as if 
it were something my father had sent me,” 
she added, smoothing the letter with a sort 
of wistful tenderness. 

Fifteen dollars ! That seemed to Louise a 


60 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


grand beginning in their effort to accumulate 
for Susie, and her hope and courage rose 
proportionately. Then Nat came home, and 
she had a few minutes’ chat with him. He 
told her of his success in finding odd bits of 
overwork, and also that he thought it best 

they should write at once to Dr. S and 

learn his terms, so that they could tell how 
much it would cost for Susie’s stay in New 
York. Altogether, Louise was greatly 
cheered — and stimulated too — in her deter- 
mination to help them all. 

‘‘Don’t get so in love with that grand 
house that you won’t want to come back to 
ours,” Nat said, walking to the corner with 
her when she went away. 

“ Little danger,” she answered briefly. 

Nevertheless, it was not so hard to go back. 
Home did not seem so far away, now that 
she had seen them all ; she realized what she 
had known before, yet could not feel in her 
new, strange circumstances — that she was not 
entirely separated from her family ; that a 
few minutes’ walk would take her to them, 
and she could see them at any time. The 
sense of loneliness diminished, and she grew 


THE BARCLAYS. 


61 


more content and cheerful, while the thought 
of the money already laid aside for Sue 
made her own earnings appear more valu- 
able, and the object for which she was work- 
ing less distant. Her quiet, steady manner 
won the children, and she began to care for 
them in return, and to find as the days went 
by that her duties grew more natural and 
less irksome. 

‘‘ A bad drunken man ! Look, Weeze 
cried little E-obbie, standing beside her at 
the window one day. 

Josey, Karl and Willie crowded up at 
once to watch the man, who, with bent head 
and hat drawn low over his face, went stag- 
gering from one side of the walk to the 
other. Louise knew that reeling figure well 
— she had seen it only too often — but she 
did not avow her recognition as, with head 
turned away and cheek almost resting on 
Baby Blossom’s golden hair, she listened 
while the mother explained to her little 
band the danger and sin of intemperance 
and the shame and pain it wrought. Louise 
could have preached a more effective sermon 
from personal experience, but she sat with 


62 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


close-shut lips, uttering neither word nor 
comment. A strange, rather unimpressible 
girl, not easily touched or interested, Mrs. 
Barclay thought even while she talked. 

Yet, in truth, since she had been in this 
home Louise was beginning to understand 
more clearly than ever before how the one 
evil had darkened her own home — that pov- 
erty, hardship and care need not have been 
theirs but for that. She began to cherish 
too a hope, growing out of the beauty and 
comfort she saw around her, that happier 
days might possibly come. She wa^ no 
dreamer, but she sometimes counted her 
prospective earnings in this work, to which 
she was growing reconciled, and whispered 
to herself, ‘‘ It will help ; and if Susie can 
only be cured I wouldn’t mind staying on ; 
and then, all together, we can do better and 
get a great many things. Maybe it will not 
be so hard for mother and all of us much 
longer.” 

In one of her brief visits at home she 

learned that they had heard from Dr. S , 

and the cost of Susie’s going to New York 
for treatment would be less than they had 


THE BARCLAYS. 


63 


feared. The doctor, surmising from the anx- 
ious, careful inquiries of their letter something 
of the story they did not tell, had made his 
own terms very low. There would be trav- 
eling and some other expenses, but if Susie 
could have fifty dollars it might answer. 
Even that seemed a large sum to them, 
knowing the slow way in which it must be 
gathered, but not wholly unattainable, and 
they worked for it hopefully. 

Of the planning and hoping they said 
nothing to the husband and father. It 
would have been useless, they thought — or, 
more truly, they did not think of it at all. 
It was long since they had included him in 
any of the household councils, or regarded 
him as possessing any share in its interests. 
He never spoke of Susie’s eyes now in his 
irregular homecomings; he seemed to have 
grown accustomed to and careless of her 
affliction, as he had done of so many other 
things. 

Louise saw him pass occasionally, wonder- 
ing what attracted him so often to the sub- 
urbs and up the mountain-road toward the 
mines. One morning, out with the children 


64 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


for their daily airing, she met him. He was 
not himself, or he would have passed her in 
sullen silence, feeling, perhaps, some shame 
or a passing twinge of remorse at her posi- 
tion. As he was sufficiently intoxicated to 
render him oblivious of any such senti- 
ment, he stopped her: 

^‘Eh, Louise! Glad to see — dear girl. 
This fine day, eh?’’ 

“Yes; I must go on with the children,” 
said Louise hurriedly. 

“ Fine children I inn’cence and halcyon 
days of childhood 1 Stop and lemme see 
’em,” pursued her father, steadying himself 
against a post, while the little boys watched 
him in astonishment and some alarm. “Nice 
children I Who’s owner of ’em ?” 

“ They are Mrs. Barclay’s, and I am taking 
care of them for her. I must go.” 

“ Louise, my dear, you’ll earn a good deal 
of money. Lend your father a dollar or so?” 

He staggered back a pace, and Louise 
hastily pushed her little flock forward and 
passed on, quickening her steps until she had 
turned a corner out of his sight. She took a 
long walk that day, and tried to interest the 



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L%iJ8 

SUif^TlEffiS 



Louise in trouble 


Page 65 











THE BARCLAYS. 


65 


children in various objects around them, that 
they might forget the scene ; but, after all, 
Robbie, the chatterbox of the party, remem- 
bered to tell a confused story of some big 
drunken man that stopped Weeze and talked 
to her.” 

Mrs. Barclay asked no questions, but she 
wondered, a little suspiciously, at the girl’s 
silence. 

Louise tried to keep watch after that and 
avoid all chance of a meeting, and for a week 
she saw no more of her father. Then, one 
sunny day, returning with the children, she 
met him near Mrs. Barclay’s gate, and again 
he stopped her and renewed his request for 
money : 

‘‘Lend your father a trifle, like a ’fec- 
tionate daughter; I’m in pressing circum- 
stances.” 

“I have no money — not a single cent,” 
answered Louise earnestly. 

“ You get it from the lady, for — valu’ble 
services,” he persisted. “ Go ’n’ ask her. 
I’ll take care of the baby;” and he at- 
tempted to take possession of Blossom’s 
carriage, which Louise had been drawing. 


66 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


‘‘No, no, I cannot,’’ said Louise in distress. 

“ Yes — can get some for your father. I’ll 
hold the baby,” he urged, bending over as if 
to lift the child in his arms; but at the move- 
ment and his strange face little Blossom raised 
her voice in a shrill cry, and with a sudden 
motion Louise whirled the carriage away from 
her father, pushed by him and entered the 
gate. 

From her window Mrs. Barclay had wit- 
nessed the encounter, and trembled with 
alarm as she saw the rough-looking, evi- 
dently intoxicated stranger stop the party 
and attempt to possess himself of her child. 
She sprang to the door to find Louise al- 
ready coming up the walk, but instead of 
the frightened recital of adventure she ex- 
pected, the girl was silent. 

“ Why, Louise, who was that man ?” 

“ My father,” Louise answered after an 
instant’s scarcely perceptible hesitation. 

She said nothing more, she could think 
of nothing to say, but passed on with the 
child in her arms. 

The children, however, supplemented the 
story. 


THE BARCLAYS. 


67 


‘‘ The man wanted money, and Weeze 
hadnT any. He told her to go get some, 
and he said he’d take Baby ; and then 
Weeze jerked the carriage away and ran 
through the gate,” they said. 

A drunken father, who was in the habit 
of meeting the girl and demanding money, 
and who had threatened to seize the baby 
if his demands were not complied with ! 
Mrs. Barclay was in consternation at such 
a state of affairs. He might be more suc- 
cessful another time, and run away with the 
child in the hope of extorting money, or, in 
his drunken madness, kill it. What was to 
prevent his coming to the house if Louise 
were at any time left in charge of the chil- 
dren ? However kind the girl herself might 
be, she could never feel safe to trust the little 
ones with her again. She had done an un- 
wise thing in engaging one of whom she 
knew nothing, and she must end the matter 
as speedily as possible. She could not risk 
her baby’s life — dear little Blossom ! 

So that afternoon, when, according to pre- 
vious arrangement, Louise was going home 
for a little while, the lady placed some money 


68 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


in her hand and said, reluctantly, but still 
with full determination to end the matter, 
There is payment for your work, Louise. 
The month ends to-day, you know, and I am 
sorry, but I think I shall not need you any 
longer. I would have told you sooner if 
I had known, and since I have changed my 
mind so suddenly it is only just that I should 
pay you for a week or two in advance, so that 
you can have opportunity to find another 
place without loss. I ajn very sorry that 
it has happened so.” 

She did not give any reason for the abrupt 
change in her plans. 

Louise did not ask any ; she understood 
at once. Briefly, but very positively, she de- 
clined payment for anything more than the 
actual term of service rendered, and then 
gathered up her few effects without a word. 
A flood of bitter thoughts was surging 
through her heart as she walked slowly 
homeward with a step unlike the quick, 
springing one with which she usually turn- 
ed in that direction ; but she only murmured 
a single sentence to herself ; 

“ Poor Sue !” 


CHAPTER IV. 


AT HOME AGAIN. 

S OMETHING in that silent, unquestion- 
ing departure touched Mrs. Barclay. 
Her course had seemed only wise and ne- 
cessary to her excited, troubled thought, but 
when Louise was really gone she began to 
reconsider her decision with an uncomfort- 
able feeling that it had been hasty. 

“ Why don’t Weeze come asked Robbie, 
with his rosy lips close to the window-pane, 
as the twilight deepened into darkness in the 
street. 

“ Louise isn’t coming back again. You 
must help mamma take care of Blossom, 
and pick up all these playthings,” answered 
his mother, trying to divert him from his 
watching. 

Why won’t she? I like Weeze. Don’t 
you want her to live here any more ?” pur- 


70 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


sued Robbie, more desirous of information 
than of any new duties. 

“ Yes, I did like Louise, but I could not 
have her miserable father stopping her in 
the street and threatening to run off with 
the baby. I really could not risk such a 
thing as that.” 

Mrs. Barclay replied more to the vague 
discomfort of her own thoughts than to the 
child. But after a moment^s slow ponder- 
ing Bobbie gathered her meaning, and hav- 
ing announced a valorous determination to 
“ frow stones ” at any one who should at- 
tempt to steal the baby, a sudden thought 
struck him. 

Mamma, he didn’t say run away with 
Blossom,” he explained ; ‘‘ he said hold her 
and Weeze go and get some money.” 

It might have been so, but that did not 
insure safety to her child in the arms of a 
man crazed with liquor ; and who could tell 
what his maddened brain might suggest? 
No, she could not risk such contact, Mrs. 
Barclay assured herself. Yet — he had chil- 
dren of his own ! She remembered pitying- 
ly the little brother Louise had mentioned 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


71 


when she first came, whom she “ loved, of 
course/’ Perhaps it was for his sake she 
had been working. Doubtless there was 
some need of her earnings in such a home 
as that father would make. Poor girl ! it 
was hard that through no fault of her own, 
but only because of her wretched father, 
she must lose the place she had striven so 
faithfully to keep — lose it for the very rea- 
son that made her need of employment most 
urgent. 

As she began to view the subject from an- 
other side than her own, Jessie Barclay’s 
generous heart grew more and more self-re- 
proachful. She had been selfish, unjust. 
She might, at least, have questioned the girl 
and learned all the facts in the case — have 
assured herself that there was really so 
much cause for alarm or no other way of 
avoiding trouble. 

‘‘ But I thought only of myself, and not 
at all of her. How cruel she must have 
thought me ! — Ah, Blossom darling ! if com- 
ing years could ever place you in a position 
like hers, I should hope for different treat- 
ment for you from any Christian mother,” 


72 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


she murmured penitently, with her cheek on 
her child’s sunny head. 

She missed the willing, patient hands all 
the next day and for many a day thereafter, 
but the trouble of any additional care or 
personal inconvenience was far out-weighed 
by regretful thoughts of what seemed 
now like selfishness and injustice. She 
would gladly have sought the girl, but 
did not know her address — not even in 
what part of the city she lived. The silent, 
uncommunicative Louise had volunteered no 
information, scarcely a remark, concerning 
her family. Mrs. Barclay had thought of 
it sometimes — when Louise was out with the 
children, perhaps, or when she was herself 
busy — had meant to learn more concerning 
her, to try to win her confidence when some 
convenient opportunity should offer. But 
the days had brought their duties, a whole 
month had passed, and now it was too late ! 
It was the old story, finding its way to all 
human lips so often : “ While thy servant 
was busy here and there the man was gone.” 

“ Lives meet and part so strangely like 
ships at sea, and we so often forget what we 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


73 


should have given or received until we are 
far on our different courses,” Jessie Barclay 
said to her husband. “We think of the 
kindness that might have been done when 
the opportunity is gone ; we forget the cup 
of cold water until the thirsty lips have 
passed by.” 

For weeks the thought lingered with her, 
and she scanned every girlish figure she met 
in the street with the hope of seeing Louise. 
She began to make frequent visits to the 
mountain in those early winter weeks, pass- 
ing up the rough road — not attracted alone 
by the wild beauty of rocks or evergreens, 
or by the fine view of city and river below, 
but pressing on to where the little cabins 
sprang up here and there or nestled in clus- 
ters of three or four together. She was try- 
ing to learn something of them, to become 
acquainted with their inmates, in a gradual, 
unobtrusive way, that she might know where 
and how to help the poor mothers and chil- 
dren if help should be needed. 

There was no lack of poverty surely, its 
effects increased, in many cases, by ignorance 
and indolence, while in others, as one woman 


74 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


rather curtly told her, they ‘‘had nothing, 
and made the best of it/’ It was slow work 
to establish really friendly relations, to learn 
how to offer assistance that would be neither 
resented nor abused — neither offend honest 
independence nor arouse cupidity in the un- 
worthy. But it did not take long to dis- 
cover need and privation, and to see that 
there would be more as the winter wore on. 
Jessie Barclay’s purse was not limitless — she 
was ready to wish it were as she grew more 
acquainted with the little mountain homes — 
but she could help many a little one to 
warmer winter clothing and provide some 
delicacies for the sick. 

Despite the general dullness, the new 
saloon flourished, thriving on slaughter and 
death after the manner of vultures. A long 
rough cabin it was, with low door and small 
windows, swinging out a gaudily-painted sign 
— “ Mountaineers’ Best.” 

“ Best of their money and rest of their 
sense! Very ’propriate name!” muttered a 
man in half- bitter, half-drunken comment as 
Mrs. Barclay was passing one day. As he 
made his way, not quite steadily, into the 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


75 


building, it occurred to her that somewhere 
she had seen him before. She rarely forgot 
a face or form once seen, and a moment’s 
thought recalled Louise’s father. She could 
seek no information from him there and in 
that condition, and she walked slowly on, 
thinking how vainly she had hoped to meet 
the girl. 

“ ‘ Ne’er returns the chance that passed ; 

That one moment was its last ; 

Never more its countenance 
Beams upon thy slow advance ; 

Never more that time shall be 
Burden-bearer unto thee ; 

Woe and want must cry in vain — 

Lost chance never comes again,’ ” 


she repeated regretfully. 

The time had been a weary, troubled one 
to Louise. Much as she had missed her 
home, she could not be content to remain 
in it now and give up the hope of earning 
and helping that had grown so dear to her. 
The disappointment the others felt in the 
loss of her place, too, made it harder to 
bear, though they tried for her sake not 
to betray it. . 

“ I am very sorry, dear, but it was no fault 


76 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


of yours/’ her mother said. But her very 
tone revealed her own sadness and discour- 
agement — grieved not more for the result 
than for the cause that had wrought it. 

Nat whistled incessantly to show how 
lightly he esteemed the matter, and how 
exceedingly cheerful and untroubled he was, 
his very effort to hide being most convincing 
proof that there was something to be hidden. 

‘‘Never mind, sis; something else will 
turn up. As good fish in the sea as ever 
came out of it,” he said, anxious to brighten 
Louise’s sober face. 

“ That doesn’t help us any, so long as our 
hook and line won’t catch them,” she an- 
swered. 

She walked the streets with tired feet many 
an hour, trying vainly to find employment — 
seeking some place of which she had heard 
or inquiring where she thought there might 
possibly be a chance. That part of the city 
in which the Barclays lived she carefully 
avoided. Since her father had for some 
reason acquired a habit of frequenting it, 
any situation there, if she could obtain one, 
would be useless, she thought. The same 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


77 


scene would be re-enacted ; he would meet 
and speak to her, and she would soon be 
sent away. So it happened that in all the 
long walks Mrs. Barclay never saw her. 

Her mother’s feeling, that there was not 
room enough in the world, often came to the 
girl in those days, there seemed so many eager, 
ready hands for all the work. Passing home- 
ward from her weary, unsuccessful quest one 
day, she neared the large house whose win- 
dows she had so often watched from the one 
in her own little room. 

I wonder if there could be any chance 
here ? They take enough out of homes like 
mine; they ought to give something in re- 
turn,” she muttered ; and, with a sudden 
impulse born of desperation, she mounted the 
broad steps and rang the bell. 

The door was opened immediately by a girl 
about Louise’s own age. Just returned from 
school, her hat and armful of books said and 
explained why the bell was answered so 
promptly, and not by a servant. The pret- 
ty street-dress with its soft trimmings, the 
white, girlish hands with their glitter of 
rings, the dainty boots, the handsome hall 


78 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


and richly-carpeted stairs, — Louise’s swift 
glance swept them all, forming in her own 
mind some sharp contrasts even while she 
stated, as concisely as possible, her errand. 
Did they need any help? had they any 
work for her? 

No ; we have all the help we need. 
Mamma doesn’t wish to engage any one 
else,” was answered, not unkindly, only 
carelessly. 

The door received a hasty push as Louise 
turned, but it remained slightly ajar, and she 
caught a sentence, uttered, probably, to some 
companion in an adjoining room : 

‘‘ We never would engage any one from the 
street, anyway.” 

‘‘ Particular — about some things,” com- 
mented Louise as she walked away. ‘‘They 
don’t take people from the street, only turn 
them into it.” 

That she had no references from former 
places to offer, no experience of which to 
boast, secured in some quarters her prompt 
refusal; and unconsciously she injured her 
own cause with her brief replies and uncom- 
municativeness. At last she abandoned her 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


79 


efforts, as, for the time at least, useless, and 
when more plain sewing came to her mother, 
she assisted as well as she could with that, 
while she waited for something more prom- 
ising. 

The fund for Susie increased but slowly. 
Nat’s ‘‘ extras,” as he called them, were un- 
certain and irregular. Often he could ob- 
tain nothing beyond his usual daily work, 
and from that and the small sum the sewing 
brought it was hard to lay aside anything. 

“ If I could only help !” Susie said some- 
times, passing her hand wistfully over the 
fabrics she could not see ; and Louise, glan- 
- cing up at the sightless eyes, made her nee- 
dle fly still more swiftly. Susie must go to 
New York, but it would take so long to earn 
the money ! Even with the check that had 
been sent her mother, the payment for her 
own one month of service, and all that Nat 
could do, they had secured but little more 
than two-thirds of the required sum ; and 
now there were no more grand letters to 
expect, and she had lost her place ! 

Louise was musing over it despondently 
one day, carrying home some work for her 


80 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


mother, when her eyes were attracted by a 
shop-window near her, and a sudden thought 
came to her. She paused as if to enter the 
place, but recollecting the bundle she carried 
— that it must be delivered in proper time to 
its owner — she turned away again, but with 
quickened feet, hurrying every step of the 
way in her eagerness to accomplish her er- 
rand and return before it grew late. 

‘‘For I will try more than once ; if they 
will not buy there, I will go somewhere else. 
I’m sure I can do it somewhere,” she said to 
herself as she threaded her way through the 
streets, already growing crowded with people 
returning from business. 

She was not long delayed. The person 
she sought was at home, the work she de- 
livered satisfactory, and in a few minutes 
she was free to carry out her hastily -formed 
project. Curls, braids and waving tresses 
of black, gold and gray met her eye as she 
returned to the window that had so attracted 
her, and again she paused for a moment to 
look at them. Then she entered, and, ask- 
ing to examine some of them more closely, 
inquired their prices. A young girl so 


AT HOME AGAIN, 


81 


plainly attired was an unpromising customer 
for that sort of wares, the saleswoman evi- 
dently thought, for she eyed her visitor cu- 
riously, while she replied to her questions 
in a half-civil, half-indifferent way. 

But Louise soon obtained what she was 
seeking — some knowledge of the value 
placed upon the different kinds and quali- 
ties of the articles, and then she ventured 
upon her real errand. Did they purchase 
hair as well as sell it? Would they buy 
hers? And she threw aside her hat, only 
her trembling fingers betraying her nervous 
haste and excitement. The woman looked 
at her wonderingly, hesitated, then summon- 
ed the proprietor ; and presently Louise was 
seated in a back room, with her hair falling 
unbound about her. It was her one beauty 
— long, thick and fine — and the quick eyes 
of the dealer lighted with satisfaction as they 
rested upon it. 

Terms were speedily agreed upon, the 
bright, circling shears did their work swift- 
ly also, and the severed tresses lay in a soft, 
wavy mass upon the floor. Louise did not 
glance at them. The saleswoman good- 
6 


82 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


natnredly offered her a peep at the mirror, 
but it was declined with a word, and draw- 
ing her hat closely down on her head and 
tying a thick veil over it, she lingered only 
long enough for the money — eighteen dol- 
lars — to be placed in her hand. 

‘‘ A good bargain !’’ nodded the sales- 
woman as the shop door closed upon the 
girl’s departure. 

“Tve got it! enough for Susie!” Louise 
whispered as she hurried homeward with 
the precious roll tightly clasped in her cold 
fingers. How I must look ! It’s no mat- 
ter, though. I’d have waited to ask mother 
first, only I know she couldn’t refuse when 
it’s for Sue ; and she’ll feel better not to 
know till it’s done.” 

Her congratulation and explanation found 
ready expression to herself alone. They ob- 
tained but disjointed and partial utterance in 
the home-circle, when, as she threw aside 
her wrappings, little Billy drew general at- 
tention to her : 

^‘Louise Sheldon, you look just like a 
boy ! What is the matter with your head ?” 

‘‘ Her head ?” the mother repeated, look- 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


83 


ing up wonderingly, and then surveying her 
in amazement. — ‘‘ My child, what have you 
done with your hair ?” 

“ I — had it cut off.” 

“ Had it cut ?” echoed Susie. ‘‘ Your 
hair? Why, Louise, what freak possessed 
you?” 

‘‘ Long hair is a trouble sometimes, and — 
they pay for such things, you know,” she 
added, hastily dropping the little roll of bills 
into her mother’s lap. 

The mother understood then. She care- 
fully smoothed out the crumpled bits of paper 
that meant so much, her eyes slowly filling 
as she did so, and drawing the poor shorn 
head to her bosom kissed it without a word. 
Susie, after a moment’s wondering thought, 
comprehended also, and, making her way to 
her sister’s side, passed her hands over the 
short locks. 

“ Your pretty hair, Louise !” she said re- 
gretfully. 

“ It took so long to comb it,” began Lou- 
ise valiantly again ; and then Billy uncon- 
sciously came to her relief. 

My !” he ejaculated, running his fingers 


84 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


through his tangled yellow curls. “ I’d sell 
every spear of mine for that — smack, smooth, 
shaved off!” 

In the laugh this earnestness aroused 
Louise escaped to her room, and there she 
ventured to survey herself in the little mir- 
ror — to brush her closely-shingled hair into 
more becoming order, and ^^get used to it,” 
as she said, swallowing a lump in her throat 
while she assured herself that she looked 
‘‘ like a fright ; and it wasn’t worth making 
a fuss about. And I’m so glad for Sue I” 
she concluded. 

Glad for her they all were, and the talk 
that evening was hopeful and cheerful as 
they gathered around the fire. Dr. Ainsley 
had spoken so confidently of the probable 
benefit of her going to New York ; and now 
the money so longed and worked for was ob- 
tained — really, now, even more than the 
requisite sum. All assured themselves of 
that by careful counting, since it seemed al- 
most too good to be true ; and then the 
money was slipped into the drawer of the 
mother’s work-table — a tiny, upper drawer 
seldom used, where reposed a few household 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


85 


trinkets — a battered old silver watch, long 
past any timekeeping, and a pearl-inlaid 
snuff-box that had belonged to Mrs. Shel- 
don’s grandmother in the days when both 
the snuff and the grandmother were fashion- 
able. 

Then they began to plan details of the 
journey. They must try to find some one 
about to take the trip who would take charge 
of Susie. Dr. Ainsley could doubtless help 
them there; and in the few days they miglff 
be obliged to wait for that Sue’s slender 
wardrobe must be put in the best order at- 
tainable. It required not a little anxious 
thought to arrange that last when so very 
few articles could be purchased, and they 
lingered long, suggesting and studying, be- 
fore they separated for the night. 

Even at that late hour Louise’s brain was 
too full of busy thought to yield readily to 
slumber, and when, at last, her planning was 
beginning to mingle confusedly with dream- 
ing, a sound below stairs started her wakeful- 
ness again, and she raised her head from her 
pillow to listen. 

“ It’s father,” said Susie in answer to the 


86 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


movement. Don^t you hear ? It’s the 
side door, and you know he always has the 
key of that.” 

Yes, that unsteady, staggering entrance 
was unmistakably her father’s. Louise lis- 
tened to the shuffling step as it moved hither 
and thither, wishing it would cease and its 
owner grow quiet for the night. His home- 
comings were irregular, and the moods in 
which he came various. He was seldom 
very ill-tempered or abusive. Sometimes he 
was too nearly stupefied to do more than 
drop down upon lounge or floor and sink 
into a heavy slumber, while at others his 
head was full of grand schemes and impossi- 
ble projects that he was desirous of expati- 
ating upon. But to-night there was surely 
no one to whom he could talk, and Louise 
wondered at his fumbling about, and ques- 
tioned what he could be busying himself 
with so long. At last she heard the outer 
door open and close again, and the step, hur- 
ried but unsteady, on the sidewalk. 

‘‘He’s gone away again!” she exclaimed, 
starting up once more and listening until 
the sounds died away in the distance. 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


87 


“ Now he will not come back to-night. Oh 
dear ! I wonder why he came at all, when 
he didn’t mean to stay ?” 

Then, with an uneasy thought that he 
might have left the door unfastened, she 
slipped softly down stairs, locked it and re- 
turned to her room. 

After that the household was undisturbed 
until morning, but then a sickening revela- 
tion met them. The little drawer was wide 
open and rifled of its precious contents ! 
There was no need to ask how or by whom ; 
they all knew but too well — knew also that 
it was gone beyond all possibility of recov- 
ery. The most careful search revealed not 
a single dollar of the sum so carefully accu- 
mulated. The very care they had taken to 
place it in safety had resulted in the loss. 
Something — the display of a timepiece by a 
companion, perhaps — had suggested to Da- 
vid Sheldon’s befogged brain the old watch 
in the drawer at home, and with some con- 
fused idea of rendering it valuable or bar- 
tering it he had made search for it, and 
found, besides, the money. He was too much 
intoxicated to feel any surprise at discovering 


88 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


such an amount in the possession of his im- 
poverished family, or any hesitation in ap- 
propriating it; he only clutched it eagerly 
and went away, chuckling to himself over 
his rare fortune. 

That night Louise looked with despairing 
bitterness at the great glittering windows 
opposite. 

“ Shine on !” she said. You have poor 
Sue’s eyes now, with all the other things 
that have gone to make up your light.” 


CHAPTER V. 


LITTLE TONY. 

B illy was meditating. He sat on the 
front steps, his elbows resting on his 
knees, his hands covering his ears to protect 
them from the cold, and his eyes fixed upon 
the sidewalk. Another small person ap- 
proaching from around the corner paused 
to look at him : 

“ What you doing there, Billy Sheldon 
Billy raised his eyes and surveyed her 
seriously — a little girl in ragged dress, with 
an old shawl wrapped about her and a dilapi- 
dated hood tied over the black hair that was 
flying in uncombed freedom. He had seen 
her frequently loitering about in the neigh- 
borhood, sometimes joining the other chil- 
dren, but oftener alone, and, after a mo- 
ment’s scrutiny, he asked. 

What’s your name ?” 


90 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


“ Tony.” 

I don’t believe it,” answered Billy im- 
politely but positively ; that’s a boy’s 
name.” 

It’s mine too ; any way, that’s what Peg 
Flaherty calls it, and she whips me oftener 
than anybody else — when she can catch 
me.” 

There was a mischievous dancing in the 
bright black eyes, which seemed to indicate 
that the last-mentioned feat was attended 
with difficulty. But having cited such in- 
dubitable proof of Mistress Flaherty’s know- 
ledge in the matter of her name, she returned 
to her first question : 

‘‘ What makes you sit here ?” 

‘‘ I’m thinking,” said Billy gravely. 

‘‘ What about?” 

About how I wish there wasn’t any rum 
or whisky, and nobody could ever get any 
more such things to drink for ever and 
ever,” he answered with slow emphasis. 

My !” Tony looked at him in aston- 
ishment. Wouldn’t some folks be mad ! 
What do you wish that for?” 

‘‘ ’Cause I do. It makes folks wicked, and 


LITTLE TONY. 


91 


not buy their boys and girls any clothes, and 
steal money too, so it does !” 

Folks don’t know what they do when 
they’re drunk,” said Tony with an air of 
one familiar with the subject. “ Of course 
they tear ’round and break things. They’re 
crazy.” 

“ Well, they wouldn’t be if they didn’t 
drink, and they couldn’t drink if folks 
didn’t sell it,” answered Billy with conclu- 
sive logic; ‘^and I just wish there wasn’t 
any such places anywhere in the world — 
that’s what !” 

“ I know where there’s ever so many,” 
said Tony reflectively. ‘‘ They’re all light- 
ed up at night, and I’ve peeped in one 
and seen ’em selling. They make lots 
of money.” 

“ They oughtn’t to, any way, for the men 
that pay it ought to buy shoes for their boys 
and girls and clothes for their mothers ; and 
sometimes other folks earn it besides, and 
want to pay the doctor with it,” said Billy, 
not quite clear in his statement, but entirely 
so in the sharp, cruel memory that had made 
his young heart sore. 


92 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Tony glanced down at her own tattered 
attire. Perha23S a dim thought of some pos- 
sible connection between the lighted saloons 
she had admired and her forlorn condition 
occurred to her for the first time, but she 
did not ponder it long. 

My father goes there too,” she said, 
taking Billy’s position for granted, ‘‘ but I 
don’t care. I wish he’d stay all the time, 
for he can’t knock me ’round when he’s away, 
and Peg Flaherty isn’t so bad, ’cause she has 
the rheumatiz a good deal and can’t run. / 
don’t mind the s’loons,” she added grandly, 
‘‘but if you don’t like ’em — ” 

“ I just hate every one !” interrupted Billy 
emphatically. 

“ Well, then, Pll plague ’em ’most to death, 
see if I don’t!” declared Tony. 

“ How ?” 

“Never mind; I know how. Just come 
along and I’ll show you. Won’t it be fun ?” 
and Tony’s eyes danced again. “ Come.” 

She caught her little companion’s hand, 
and, half reluctantly, half curiously, he ac- 
companied her. Around a corner, up one 
street and down another, Tony led the way, 


LITTLE TONY. 


93 


as if familiar with the ground, and pausing 
when, in the late afternoon, lights already 
gleamed out above the screens at the win- 
dows. 

‘‘ Don’t mean folks shall see in, but I will 
and, w^hisking about like a squirrel, she perch- 
ed herself where she could catch a momen- 
tary glimpse. ‘‘Yes, there’s some in there 
now ; just wait.” 

A moment later a man entered, leaving 
the door slightly ajar. That was Tony’s op- 
portunity. She placed her face near the ap- 
erture and sang out in a clear, shrill tone, 

“ Drink your whisky strong and sweet ! 

Your folks at home have nothing to eat.” 

Then she darted away, and drew Billy out 
of sight in a doorway. 

Some one from the saloon came and looked 
into the street, and seeing no one went in 
again and closed the door. Tony grew 
bolder. She made her way back to her 
former position, and ventured cautiously to 
open the door herself. 

Oh, the rumseller’s folks 
Have silks and gold! 


94 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


And the drunken man’s folks 
Go hungry and cold,” 

she shouted. Stringing rhymes together 
seemed wondrously easy to the child, and 
Billy’s words had given her a new thought 
to use. Again and again she shouted some 
couplet and ran away, growing more and 
more delighted as she saw the increased ex- 
citement she caused. Even when she was 
discovered and roughly ordered away, she 
would have lingered and returned, trusting 
to the skill and speed acquired in her fre- 
quent encounters, but Billy positively re- 
fused. As they passed along another street, 
however, she suddenly stopped before a gilded 
sign and sent forth another of her singsong 
exhortations in tones so loud and clear that 
there was no possibility of its being unheard :• 

“ Here you spend your money for rum : 

You’d better save your children some.” 

The proprietor of the establishment rushed 
angrily to the door, and, after a hurried glance 
up and down the street, perceived the insig- 
nificant aggressor, and contented himself with 
sharply demanding what she wanted there 


LITTLE TONY. 


95 


and bidding her begone. But Tony bal- 
anced herself on the curbstone, and the in- 
stant his back was turned called out in saucy 
defiance — 

“Such a nice man ! he doesn’t care. 

He makes men drunk, and they fight and swear, 

And leave their poor folks with nothing to wear. 

What a nice man !” 

Some passer-by stopped and laughed at the 
scene, and no young dibutante on stage or 
platform was ever more flattered by bouquets 
and applause than Tony by that laughter. 
She was in nowise disposed to retreat when 
the irate face appeared again at the door ; but 
Billy, who had fallen back a little, insisted 
upon going home, and finally drew her 
away. He was by no means certain that his 
.mother would approve of Tony’s proceedings, 
and with all his expressed hatred of the 
traffic he did not quite enjoy this mode 
of warfare and the attention it attracted. 

‘‘ Well, you needn’t do it if you don’t want 
to,” said Tony patronizingly, yielding to what 
she considered his weakness. “But I mean 
to tease ’em every time I get a chance.” 

“ It won’t do any good ; they’ll just keep 


96 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


selling it all the same/’ said Billy doubtfully. 

Of course/’ answered Tony in amaze- 
ment that anything else should be thought 
of. Only I just won’t give ’em any peace. 
I didn’t ever think before about their taking 
the money that ought to buy bread and but- 
ter and shoes and things, ’r else I’d sung at 
’em long ago. Won’t they be plagued now, 
though ?” 

She nodded her head in satisfaction, and 
seemed not unlike a little stinging mosquito 
bent upon tormenting some foe too large to 
vanquish. Poor Tony ! She was not un- 
skilled in that sort of retaliation. Her rela- 
tions with humanity in general had not been 
particularly happy. She seemed to have 
taken a great fancy to little Billy, however, 
and accompanied him back to his own door- 
stone, listening interestedly while he told 
her of Susie. 

‘‘Can’t see one bit, real true?” she ques- 
tioned sharply. “ ’Cause I’ve seen lots of 
make-b’lieves ; they do it to get money.” 

“Susie wouldn’t do that,” said Billy in- 
dignantly. 

“Well, if I was that way I’d get a real 


LITTLE TONY. 


97 


nice little dog, and let him lead me ’round, 
so I could sing for folks and get pennies. 
But I s’pose your sister wouldn’t know how, 
maybe,” added Tony with a sort of lofty 
compassion for such ignorance. 

Billy looked at her wonderingly, but they 
had reached his own home again, and just 
then his mother came to the door. She 
looked a little surprised at his odd compan- 
ion, but asked him no questions, only bade 
him run over to the store and bring home 
the loaf of bread for supper. 

Tony volunteered to accompany him, and 
together they entered Miss Hannah’s pres- 
ence. Tony manifested great admiration for 
the various articles displayed, and moved 
about here and there examining them, while 
Billy made his purchase and paused to an- 
swer the neighborly inquiries always made. 
Then she walked quietly out beside him, 
and when they had crossed the street she 
drew from under her tattered shawl a large 
fair orange : 

Here, give this to your blind sister.” 

Billy took the tempting golden ball with 
delight : 

7 


98 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


How nice ! Why, don’t you want it 
yourself, though ?” with a sudden glance at 
her dress and a consciousness that dainties 
must be rare in her life. 

“ No ; I got it for her,” Tony answered 
grandly, as if bestowing gifts were an every- 
day affair. 

“ Did you get it just now at the store ?” 

Tony nodded. 

“ You’re real good,” said Billy gratefully. 
‘‘I didn’t see you buy it.” 

Tony laughed a strange laugh, that with 
her look enlightened little Billy’s unsus- 
pecting ignorance. His blue eyes opened 
wide : 

“ Why, Tony, do you steal ?” 

Ho ! I didn’t take it for myself ; it’s 
for her, I tell you,” repeated Tony carelessly, 
as if the manner of disposing of the article 
entirely canceled any irregularity in the 
mode of obtaining it. 

“ ’Twas stealing, Tony. It’s awful bad to 
steal,” said Billy impressively. 

«Why ?” asked Tony. 

’Cause it is ; and they put folks in jail 
for it,” answered Billy, not familiar with any 


LITTLE TONY. 


99 


higher reason, but clinging firmly to the 
home-teaching nevertheless. “ Any way, 
Miss Hannah’s real good to us, too — ’special- 
ly Miss Ruey — and I wouldn’t take it for 
anything.” 

‘‘ You didn’t,” interposed Tony. 

‘‘ And Susie wouldn’t want it ; she’d think 
it was awful mean,” pursued Billy, still hold- 
ing out the orange, which Tony made no 
motion to take. She leaned against the 
wall with her arms folded in her ragged 
shawl, and seemed to consider this a great 
ado about nothing; but presently she said, 
with an air of condescending pity for his 
weak scruples, 

“ Well, you can take it back to that old 
store-woman if you want to. I don’t care.” 

‘‘ And tell her ?” questioned Billy. 

‘‘ Yes.” 

Billy looked astounded at the cool propo- 
sition. To have such an act discovered was 
enough to overwhelm one, he thought. 

« Why, you won’t ever dare come ’round 
here again if I do.” 

Ho ! Yes, I will ; she couldn’t catch me 
if she tried,” laughed Tony. 


100 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


With another wondering look at her 
Billy drew a long breath and started slowly 
across the street again, while Tony called 
out a careless good-bye ’’ and walked olf in 
an opposite direction. Billy entered the store 
hesitatingly, and when Miss Hannah came 
forward he laid the orange on the counter : 

“ That girl — Tony — she sent this back.^’ 

‘‘Sent it back? She didn’t buy it here.” 

“ No’m ; she took it.” 

“Stole it?” exclaimed Miss Hannah. 
“The little thief! I never thought what 
she was poking ’round so for, but I might 
have known enough to watch her. Well, 
I do say the street young ones beat all for 
wickedness !” 

“But she sent it back, Hannah,” inter- 
posed Miss Buey. 

“ Sent back that one, but who knows how 
many more she took ?” 

Miss Hannah herself knew that no more 
had been taken ; it required but one glance 
at the fruit in the window to show her that. 
She merely asked the question for effect. 
Her stock in trade was not so large that 
any article taken could long be un missed. 


LITTLE TONY. 


101 


Billy made no explanations; he lingered 
but a minute timidly, and departed. 

‘‘ There ! I might have given him the 
orange, seeing he took the trouble to bring 
it back,” said Miss Hannah with a sudden 
thought as the door closed. ‘‘ Another time 
will do, though. It’s a wonder that light- 
fingered little tatterdemalion didn’t keep it 
herself. I do say it would be hard getting 
resigned to have that kind of a child 
about.” 

Sometimes I think,” said Miss Kuey 
slowly, that we’re only too easy resigned 
to their being all around us, without try- 
ing much to help or teach the poor little 
souls.” 

Miss Hannah looked over her spectacles 
at her sister, looked under them at the coun- 
ter, rattled the fire vigorously, and finally ob- 
served, as if it were the conclusion of some 
unspoken thought. 

But it’s not likely she’ll ever show her- 
self ’round here again.” 

Tony, however, had no idea of exciting 
herself for any such trivial reason. She 
even felt a passing wish, as she ate her 


102 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


meagre supper that night, that she had 
kept the orange for herself, since Billy 
would not accept it. Tony’s suppers were 
often scant and poor — occasionally she had 
none at all. Her father brought home what 
food their larder afforded. Sometimes he 
cooked it himself, but oftener he sat by, or- 
dering, scolding and swearing in drunken 
irascibility, while Tony did her best at pre- 
paring it. The supply varied according to 
his mood and the number of stray pence 
remaining in his pocket after he had satis- 
fied his thirst for liquor. He worked a 
little, gambled more and drank a great 
deal. There were only Tony and himself — 
their home a single room in a corner of Mrs. 
Flaherty’s abode. Sometimes he was away 
for days together. If the supply of food 
was tolerably large, Tony viewed these ab- 
sences with un mixed satisfaction ; if provis- 
ions were scarce, her gratification was propor- 
tionately lessened. Scant fare alone was 
preferable to more with his company, she 
thought, but when one was exceedingly 
hungry it was desirable to have something 
to eat, even though it was accompanied with 


LITTLE TONY. 


103 


such inconveniences as a flood of invectives 
and occasional blows. 

Tony’s domestic duties were limited. She 
punched up the two miserable beds now and 
then and straightened their coverings — her 
own when the fancy seized her, her father’s 
when she feared abuse might result from ne- 
glecting it. She swept the floor occasionally 
if she could borrow Mrs. Mulrooney’s broom. 
Mrs. Mulrooney occupied another room in 
Mrs. Flaherty’s tenement, and Tony some- 
times obtained a meal there, in an emergen- 
cy, as a reward for taking care of Mrs. Mul- 
rooney’s baby. Tony rather liked that baby ; 
the feeling of the soft, helpless little hands 
patting her face was a novel sensation. She 
went to Mrs. Mulrooney’s room now and 
then just for the sake of holding the baby, 
even when she expected no payment for the 
service; and though Mrs. Flaherty was al- 
ways warning the mother that Tony was 
not to be trusted with the child, and would 
‘‘break its neck intirely,” this catastrophe 
had not yet occurred. 

Tony and the mistress of the establish- 
ment were always at sword-points. Mrs. 


104 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Flaherty had a vocabulary of uncompliment- 
ary names that she hurled at Tony whenever 
she came in her sight. She accused the child 
as the author of all the mischief done about 
the premises, and did not hesitate to visit 
punishment without waiting for ' proof when 
she could lay her hands upon her. In re- 
turn, Tony evinced no little ingenuity in 
devising safe ways of tormenting Peg Fla- 
herty. She enjoyed the warfare, and it 
was with something of the satisfaction Alex- 
ander might have known in discovering fresh 
worlds to conquer that she began to view the 
liquor dealers as lawful enemies. 

“I don^t mind ’em, but Billy does, and 
won’t I make ’em hop!” she said to her- 
self, stringing a jingle of rhymes together 
in anticipation of the next day’s campaign. 

What Billy had said about the money 
spent with them was a new thought to her, 
and again that night she looked down at her 
own miserable dress, and wondered vaguely 
whether she might have fared any better if 
her father had not patronized such places so 
extensively. She did not attempt to answer 
the question, but contented herself with re- 


LITTLE TONY. 


105 


solves to revenge the wrong she did not fully 
comprehend. She had ample time to devote 
to the purpose, for if she did not keep house, 
neither did the house keep her in any weather 
in which she could endure to be out. She 
roamed the streets at will, and succeeded, as 
the days passed, in making herself an object 
of annoyance and detestation at numerous 
saloons and low dramshops of the city, 
where her shrill mocking voice was heard 
again and again. She was impartial in her 
attentions, and bestowed them alike upon 
establishments glittering with plate-glass and 
silver and the wretched little places where 
dingy screens seemed unnecessary in the 
dingier windows. 

Poor untaught, uncared-for little Tony ! 
going blindly upon her self-appointed mis- 
sion of making liquor-selling uncomfortable, 
an odd emissary of temperance was she! 
Yet in her rags, ignorance and forlornness 
she was herself an unanswerable argument 
for the cause. 

Though she did not attempt to take Billy 
with her again, she contrived often to make 
her way to him, and whenever she found him 


106 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


alone at the gate or on the steps she lingered 
and talked. One day he was gravely exam- 
ining the contents of his pockets when she 
joined him. A piece of string, two marbles, 
a broken knife, some rusty nails and other 
kindred treasures lay upon the step beside 
him. Tony, seating herself near him, spied 
a bit of bright pasteboard and took it up : 

“Whafs this r 

‘‘ My Sunday-school ticket — last one,” said 
Billy. 

‘‘ Whafs it for?” 

« Why, it’s to learn ; it’s got a verse on it, 
don’t you see ? And when you can say that 
and ever so many more on little cards then 
you get a big one with a picture on ; only I 
don’t hardly ever get one of them, ’cause I 
don’t go all the time,” added Billy truth- 
fully. 

“ Can you read what’s on this ?” ques- 
tioned Tony, studying the pink card. 

‘‘Why, yes. Can’t you read, Tony?” 

“ Some — big letters up on bills, like ‘ Cir- 
cus,’ and ‘ Show,’ and such,” said Tony. “ I 
don’t know little, fine reading like this.” 

Billy took the ticket and read its text : 


LITTLE TONY. 


107 


‘‘ I am poor and needy, yet the Lord think- 
eth upon me.” 

Tony pondered a minute : 

“ What does it mean ?” 

“ Why, it means — it means what it says,” 
answered Billy, stopping for the first time to 
consider whether it had any meaning ; “ that 
He thinks about poor folks, I guess.” 

‘‘ What poor folks ?” demanded Tony. 

“Everybody. It’s the Bible, don’t you 
know ? and that always means everybody,” 
explained Billy, not feeling very clear upon 
the subject. “Anyway, ’most always.” 

Everybody ! And she was “ poor and 
needy ” herself. How strange if there 
should be a thought for her ! The idea 
floated dimly through Tony’s brain. Of 
God she had a vague knowledge — gathered 
she scarcely knew where or how — that he 
had made all things, and was afar off some- 
where, great and all-powerful. Her father 
repeated the name often when he swore at 
her, and Mrs. Mulrooney used it now and 
then among her ejaculatory petitions to saint 
and Virgin when the children were sick or 
hurt. But that he might be thinking upon 


108 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


her — that was a new possibility to Tony; she 
was not quite sure that she should like it all 
the time, in all her doings. 

‘‘Do you s’pose,’’ she questioned with a 
sudden thought, “ that he don’t like the 
places where they sell whisky either?” 

“No, I’m just sure he don’t. They’re 
wicked, bad places,” answered Billy, positive 
in his indignation. “ He can’t like any- 
thing that’s bad.” 

Tony nodded her head ; here was a fresh 
incentive to her new vocation. She looked 
with envious admiration upon Billy’s won- 
derful store of knowledge — with a sort of 
hungry longing too. 

“ How did you get into that school ?” she 
asked. 

“ Oh, I just went. Anybody can go that’s 
a mind to.” 

“ Me ?” said Tony eagerly. “ Will you 
take me ’long with you?” 

Billy looked at her and flatly declined : 

“ You couldn’t go that way, all ragged. I 
don’t go myself only when I’ve got a whole 
jacket and everything.” 

Tony surveyed her attire and relinquished 


LITTLE TONY. 


109 


the point. She did have a flitting thought 
of borrowing Peg Flaherty’s best shawl — 
without asking ; but success was uncertain ; 
and even if obtained the article would not 
cover all the tatters. 

She trudged away presently, when Billy 
was called into the house, taking her home- 
ward route in leisurely fashion — now paus- 
ing to look in at store- windows, now making 
a detour to give one of her brief but spirited 
serenades before some marked door, and so 
reaching at last the narrow stairs that led to 
her room just as the sun had vanished from 
sight. 

“ If He should be thinking on me,” she 
said to herself as she gathered her bits of 
fuel together and coaxed them into a blaze 
before w^hich she could warm her chilled 
Angers, “ maybe — maybe it might be some- 
thing nice.” 


CHAPTER yi. 


THE MOUNTAINEERS’ BEST. 

T he sun was sinking slowly behind the 
mountain, his last rays lighting up the 
glittering, coarsely-painted sign of the 
Mountaineers’ Rest. An uninviting harbor 
of repose the long low room of the cabin 
looked, despite its promising name. A bar 
with sloppy trays and sticky glasses deco- 
rated one end of the apartment, and at the 
other was a large stove, red with much heat- 
ing and untidy with ashes and cinders. 
The floor between was rough and soiled. A 
few stiff* chairs, two or three small tables 
and some rude benches completed its fur- 
nishing. 

On one of these last a man was sitting ; 
he had been lying there in sleep or stupor 
for hours, but had at last assumed an up- 
right position. He pushed his hat a little 
no 


THE MOUNTAINEERS’ BEST. 


Ill 


back from liis eyes and looked up and down 
the room and out through the open door to 
the snowy hillside and the white- crowned 
evergreens. A heavy hand seemed resting 
on his heart and brain — a dull, oppressive 
weight that he could not shake off — while 
he watched with dim, abstracted gaze what 
passed around him. Other men came strag- 
gling in through the door — roughly-clad, 
coarsely-spoken, coal-begrimed men, most of 
them. They all passed up to the bar, and 
some went out again, while others lingered 
around the stove. Two or three spoke to 
him, and he did not answer, but no one 
seemed to notice the omission. 

He felt bewildered, as if awaking from a 
dream, a dull wonder even, that these should 
know him, at finding himself among them. 
Was he like them? did he belong here? 
‘‘ David Sheldon He repeated his own 
name, trying to discover something of him- 
self in it — to recall his own identity by it. 
It seemed to have a sound of other spots 
than this, to belong elsewhere. 

“ Hello, dad ! come to life again T’ called 
a rough voice familiarly. 


112 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


That name cut sharply — unpleasantly too 
— through his misty thoughts, and awoke at 
once a clearer consciousness. Dad ‘‘Dad 
Sheldon !” That was the name now, all 
there was left of it. It was what they 
called him at street-corners and over card- 
tables, thick voices shouting it hilariously or 
muttering it unsteadily. “ Dad Sheldon ’’ 
belonged here, evidently. Yes, and the 
place was not unfamiliar either; his recog- 
nition grew as he studied it again. He had 
been in it often enough, especially of late, 
since other more pretentious establishments 
no longer welcomed him. 

“Had a long bout of it this time, eh, 
dadr 

Had he ? It must have been an unusually 
long one to have left him so confused. He 
could not remember when he came there, or 
how. He had a dim recollection of having 
been possessed of an unusual amount of 
money, and of visiting some of those respect- 
able saloons, to show them that he was again 
able to pay for what he ordered ; of inviting 
others to drink with him, and settling the 
bills with a feeling of lavish wealth ; of 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ REST. 


113 


playing, winning and losing. That was all 
he could recall. Even that might be the lin- 
gering of some dream or vagary of his cloud- 
ed brain ; probably it was nothing more, he 
concluded, pondering it a little, for how 
could he obtain any money ? 

“Spent yer fortune already, dad, and 
nothin’s left on’t ?” questioned the last 
speaker again, with a laugh and a wink at 
those who stood by the stove. 

It had been some crazy fancy of his, then, 
and his talk of it had furnished amusement 
for these men ! How wretchedly his head 
ached ! how slow and perplexed his thoughts 
were ! He wanted something to steady him, 
to clear the mists from his brain, and rising 
slowly he walked over to the counter and 
asked for something to drink. 

“ Got money to pay for it ?” asked the 
barkeeper with attempt at jocularity. 

“ Never mind ; you get enough,” he an- 
swered with suppressed bitterness. 

The man laughed, poured out a glass and 
gave it to him : “We never refuse reg’lar 
customers, you know.” 

He drained it feverishly, and walking to 
8 


114 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


the door stood where the cool, fresh air could 
strike his face. Iii a few minutes he grew 
stronger, his head clearer. 

‘‘Wish you’d bring in a bucket of coal, 
dad; that fire’s low,” said the barkeeper 
presently. 

The words were a request, the tone a com- 
mand. Services of this sort were expected 
as a compensation for the liquor furnished 
when money was wanting, and it was only 
by virtue of such offices that the supply did 
not fail here as it had done in other places. 
David Sheldon knew it — knew too that they 
contrived to extort payment to the uttermost. 
The barkeeper’s tone stung him with a sud- 
den keen sense of humiliation, as it had not 
done before when he was not too besotted to 
feel or care. Yet he did not resent it ; he 
brought in the coal, and making his way 
through the knot of men replenished the 
fire. 

“ Gettin’ ’round again, dad ? — Smart young 
chore-boy you’ve got, eh, Joe?” This last 
was addressed in rude jest to the red-faced 
barkeeper. 

“Well, not so lively as some, but then 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ REST. 


115 


he’s reg’lar and always on hand,” responded 
Joe with a wink. 

This brilliant witticism was greeted with a 
burst of laughter, but the object of it pre- 
served a sombre silence, though again that 
burning sense of shame smote him. He 
walked back to the door, and passed through 
it out into the cold evening air, walking rap- 
idly away, with only the one purpose of es- 
caping for a little while from the eyes and 
voices within. Why was it that he noticed 
and felt these things to-night ? he wondered. 
Nay, he did not wonder ; it was but a mere 
pretence of asking himself the question. 
He knew it was because the long debauch 
and longer than usual sleep following it had 
left him, as he rarely was, entirely sober. He 
did not want to face the answer. 

The sun had dropped quite out of sight 
now, leaving only a fading band of pale 
gold along the west, and the gray mists were 
gathering more closely around the mountain. 
Dreary and cheerless everything looked in 
that dull light — the snow so white and cold 
\2nder the trees and upon the rocks, but 
broken and blackened in the road by pass- 


116 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


ing wheels and many feet ; the dark, caver- 
nous entrance to the mine, and the frame- 
work around it standing out gaunt and 
skeleton-like against the sky. Great black 
masses of coal lay here and there, and in 
close proximity were rough, heavy cars for 
conveying it away. Slate, pieces of lumber 
and broken implements were scattered over 
the frozen ground, and among them stood 
the coal-offices, small, grimy and weather- 
stained. 

Even a pure, healthful spirit might have 
felt a nameless sadness, the subtle depressing 
influence of the scene and hour ; but upon 
this guilty, remorseful, self-debased one it 
pressed with a sickening chill and gloom 
that he dared not try to analyze, and could 
not shake oflP. He drew his hat low over 
his eyes and pressed on in the vain effort to 
escape from himself. 

Some one came down the road toward him 
— a strong, erect, manly flgure with a quick, 
firm step. David Sheldon recognized it — 
Mr. Barclay, the superintendent of the mines. 
He would gladly have avoided meeting him, 
but it was too late for that, and he shuffled 


THE MOUNTAINEERS’ REST. 


117 


uneasily to one side of the road and walked 
slowly on with downcast eyes. Even then 
he saw with furtive, sidelong glance the half- 
pitying, half-contemptuous look the superin- 
tendent bestowed upon him as he hastened 
by. When he had fairly passed David 
Sheldon paused almost involuntarily, and 
looked after him with a strange blending of 
anger, admiration and self-abasement. 

What power and vigorous manhood that 
lithe, active form revealed ! What a free, 
sure, decided step it was that carried him so 
rapidly down the mountain-road ! Ay, he 
was a man clear-eyed, cool-headed, sound 
of heart and brain, doing a man’s work in 
the world — useful, honest work — and going 
back at night to a home that his presence 
gladdened ; while for himself — David Shel- 
don clenched his hands and ground his teeth 
as the sharp contrast pierced him. He was 
not many years older, his constitution had 
been as good, his frame as strong, as this 
man’s; he had a right to all that strength 
and vitality, and yet he looked down upon 
his unsteady feet and trembling hands, and 
even while he hated Cade Barclay for tl.e 


118 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


compassion and contempt of his glance, he 
duplicated it in the one he bestowed upon 
himself. He dropped down upon a jutting 
rock by the lonely roadside and covered his 
face with his nerveless, quivering hands, 
while a surge of anguish swept over his 
soul — an unutterable torture that only those 
who have felt it can understand. 

Such brooding could not long be borne. 
Even the rough, boisterous, hectoring crowd 
at the Mountaineers’ Rest seemed less in- 
tolerable company. Rising, he turned to re- 
trace his steps. A bend in the road showed, 
down the hillside on a lower level, the great 
coke-ovens. From the open mouths of some 
rolled up volumes of flame and smoke, while 
through others the eye looked down into great 
reservoirs of Are — the white glow of intense 
heat, while all the sky and snow were lighted 
with a red glare. They suggested horrible 
fancies to the drunkard’s disordered vision. 

“As if the infernal regions were expecting 
company and had thrown open every door to 
receive them,” he said. 

In the cabin the number of occupants had 
increased during his absence. Many of the 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ REST. 


119 


miners had come in, and the times, the work 
and the prices paid were being angrily or 
gloomily discussed. The tones and dialect 
of different nationalities mingled. Some who 
had been there before noticed Sheldon^s re- 
turn, however, and one called out, 

‘‘ Dad, be ye low-spereted yet ? Come, 
take a drink?” 

He accepted the invitation eagerly — any- 
thing to drown his wretchedness and hush 
the torturing thoughts that had awakened 
within him. 

Suddenly a shrill, childish voice broke in 
among the babel of utterances : 

“ Spend your money for whisky and rum, 

And let your children go hungry at home. 

The whisky-seller takes all the gold, 

And the folks at your house are ragged and cold.” 

Tony, tempted by the bright sunshine of 
the early afternoon, had wandered up the 
mountain and lingered here and there about 
the cabins, talking with some of the children 
and finding great attraction for her curiosity- 
IfTving nature at the mine. Returning, late 
though it had grown, she could not resist the 
impulse to pause when she came suddenly 


120 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


upon the Mountaineers’ Rest, and recog- 
nized in it one of her enemies. Her clear, 
strong young voice penetrated to the far- 
thest corner of the cabin : 

“ He don’t care if they’ve nothing to wear ! 

The rumseller wants it all for his share.” 

“ What’s that ?” said the bartender, start- 
ing up angrily. 

“That young one of mine,” exclaimed a 
low-browed, swarthy -skinned man, a French 
Canadian by birth, a wanderer everywhere, 
who seemed to have gained the vices of all 
nations and the virtues of none. “I’ll — ” 
The threats and invectives sank, fortunately, 
to indistinguishable mutterings as he rushed 
to the door. 

Tony was gone, however. Her quick eyes 
had discovered her father, and, daring as she 
was where strangers were concerned, she did 
not want to meet him. 

“Let her alone, Pierre. She was telling 
nothing but the truth,” David Sheldon said 
in bitterness. 

“ Truth ? Look here. Dad Sheldon, don’t 
get personal. I’m no robber of anybody’s 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ REST. 


121 


folks/’ said tlie man at the bar with a half 
laugh, yet evidently not well pleased. 

‘ Never speak ill of the bridge that car- 
ries you over,’ mind.” 

‘‘ Carries us over to ruin,” muttered Shel- 
don, but, not daring to offend, he only mut- 
tered the words and said nothing more. 

Presently lamps were lighted in the 
room. Some of the men who had been 
loitering about the stove went away, but 
their places were filled by others who had 
been up to their cabin homes for supper. 
A table was drawn out in one corner of the 
room, and Pierre and a few others gathered 
around it with hands full of greasy cards. 
There was no back room into which they 
could withdraw for the playing, but that 
mattered little in this mountain-den, which, 
as the proprietor felicitated himself, was out- 
side the city, and so far up the rugged road 
as to be seldom troubled by the inspection 
of police or other inconvenient visitors. 

The air grew thick with tobacco-smoke 
and .heavy with liquor-laden breath as the 
evening wore on. It would have been in- 
tolerable, even to lungs accustomed to a poi- 


122 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


soned atmosphere, but that each newcomer, 
in Western fashion, flung the door wide 
open and left it so until some other, shiver- 
ing from the draught, closed it again. 

David Sheldon brought coal and water 
for the establishment, called for something 
to drink again, and was not refused. His 
wretchedness and feeling of degradation 
wore away. He watched the game of cards 
with interest, and made what appeared to 
himself to be profound observations. He 
began to discover great wit in the common- 
place remarks of others, and to express his 
appreciation accordingly. His brain was ex- 
hilarated, his tongue loosened. Joining a 
group who were moodily discussing the re- 
ductions, abuses and prospects at the mines, 
he caught the spirit of the party, and, wax- 
ing indignant at once, declared his opinion 
in flery words that met only too full ap- 
proval from his hearers. 

‘‘ That^s the talk, dad ! A speech ! give 
us a speech cried one or two of the men 
who were occupied during the day at the 
coal-track and lading-wharf. They were 
Americans — or so far Americanized as to 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ REST. 


123 


possess the national taste for speech-making 
— and the cry once started, even the foreign 
miners echoed it. 

The speaker was not reluctant, and his 
audience prefaced his remarks with another 
glass of li(Juor, which, as its fumes mounted 
to his brain, increased his impression of his 
own importance and the value of his opin- 
ions, and at the same time his sympathy 
with these men who so appreciated his ge- 
nius. Noble souls they were, ground down 
by cruel oppression and tyranny, he said 
in his opening sentence from his rostrum, 
one of the benches vacated for his accom- 
modation. 

Not yet sufficiently intoxicated to be inco- 
herent, he was roused to a sudden wild inte- 
rest in this subject, for which he had cared 
nothing an hour before. Much of his old 
gift of ready speech still lingered, and, 
moved by his own eloquence and the ap- 
plause of his hearers, he poured forth a 
torrent of burning words, contrasting the 
palace-like homes of the owners of the 
mines with the poor little cabins on the 
mountain ; the splendid entertainments 


124 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


where money flowed like water with the 
shivering, hungry children asking vainly 
for clothing and food. He sneeringly de- 
manded where retrenchment began when 
dull times came. Not by sacrificing a sin- 
gle pearl from the lady’s necklace or a horse 
from the gentleman’s stable, but by grinding 
down the laborer’s low wages a few cents 
lower still, making the loaf only a half 
one. 

Then he mockingly recommended pa- 
tience, reminding them that supply and 
demand governed all these things — not, 
however, the supply of money in the capi- 
talist’s coffers or the demand of the laborer’s 
starving family for food. The dim remem- 
brance of Cade Barclay’s look lingered with 
him, and, awakening only hatred now, added 
to the bitterness of his denunciations. His 
vehement speech suited the mood of many 
of his listeners, while it excited some al- 
most to desperation with its pictures of 
wrong and injustice. For, exaggerated as 
many of his statements were, unsound and 
partial the arguments mingling with his 
rhodomontade, there was underlying them 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ BEST. 


125 


the half truth that made them effective. 
Grasping greed and selfishness had been 
too apparent for denial, and the privation 
in many of the cabins was a bitter fact. 

An effort to forget their enforced idleness, 
discouragement and gloom, or to talk it over 
with comrades, had drawn some of those 
men to that room that night. A weak and 
shameful remedy they had sought, it is true, 
but that did not lessen their bitterness. 
Roused to fresh indignation by their orator, 
they gathered in groups when he ceased to 
drink yet more deeply and talk yet more 
wildly. 

Tony, going home that night, concluded 
that if her father’s anger had been so 
aroused as to induce him to come in pursuit 
of her, it would be safer to allow him to find 
himself alone and have opportunity to drink 
himself into stupor before she met him ; so 
she paused only long enough to devour the 
bread and cold potato she dignified by the 
name of supper, and then sought the street 
again. She wandered down to the little 
house where Billy lived, attracted by her 
fancy for him, but scarcely with any hope 


126 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


of meeting him at that hour, when the 
street-lamps were already lighted. She es- 
pied him, however, entering the store oppo- 
site, and followed him without hesitation. 

Miss Hannah looked her astonishment at 
such temerity : 

“Ain’t you the girl that took an orange 
from here a while ago ?” 

Tony nodded. 

“ Well, if I should have you arrested for 
it, what would you say then ?” demanded 
Miss Hannah severely. 

“ Say I borrowed it and sent it back,” said 
Tony coolly. 

“ Did I ever !” ejaculated Miss Hannah in 
amazement. “ See here, child : don’t you 
know it’s wicked to steal ?” 

“ No,” answered Tony. 

“Don’t? You little heathen! Why — ” 
Miss Hannah paused in bewilderment, and 
spoke out her only thought when she said, 
“ What can a body do with you ?” 

Tony considered it a bona-fide question, 
and answered promptly with the desire of 
her heart : 

“ Make me a dress or something, so’s I 


THE MOUNTAINEERS^ REST. 


127 


can go to that Sunday-school ’long of him,” 
pointing to Billy. 

“ Well !” Miss Hannah lost her breath at 
this last piece of audacity, and rolled up 
Billy’s parcel in utter silence. Tony watch- 
ed her for a minute with her bright black 
eyes, and then gave up her flitting hope, 
as she was used to giving up things, with- 
out a word or sign. 

The two children went out together, but 
when they had reached the sidewalk Miss 
Hannah marched suddenly to the door and 
opened it: 

“ Child — ^you girl !” as both turned, “ you 
may come here to-morrow and let me take 
your measure. I don’t know as there’ll be 
any harm in that.” 

“ Yes’m,” answered Tony, and that “ ’m ” 
was an unusual effort and meant a great 
deal, if Miss Hannah had only known it. 

Billy could not stop to talk, and Tony 
wandered on alone, coming back at last to 
Mrs. Klaherty’s tenement, and discovering 
with satisfaction that her room had no light. 

“ Maybe it’s His thinking for me that did 
it,” she mused, pondering her evening’s sue- 


128 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


cess. “ ’Cause I didn’t s’pose that store- 
woman would do it so easy.” 

Meanwhile, the ‘‘ store- woman,” moved by 
a Hand unseen, was even then reviewing her 
wardrobe with a view to finding something 
that might be spared to “ cut over.” How 
strangely much of the world’s work is done ! 
Billy’s childish indignation had made Tony 
a persevering temperance lecturer, and 
Tony’s ignorant request had transformed 
Miss Hannah into a home missionary. 


CHAPTER VII. 

LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 

L ouise had found a new employment. 

Miss Hannah suggested it one day when, 
on bringing in a modest supply of articles 
which she had been purchasing for her 
store, her eye rested upon the neat little 
boxes in which some of them were en- 
closed. 

“ See here,’’ she said to Louise, who was 
selecting a skein of silk, why can’t you 
make these?” 

‘‘Toilet soap? needles?” questioned Lou- 
ise in bewilderment. 

“ No — these boxes, all covered with fancy 
paper and pictures on top. Somebody has 
to make them.” 

“ If I could do it !” said Louise, interested 
at once. “ If I could get it to do ! But 
then I suppose there are only too many 

9 129 


130 


VAGABOND AND VICTOB. 


working at it already.’’ She concluded her 
sentence despondently. 

‘‘ Maybe, and maybe not,” responded Miss 
Hannah. She was not one to give up any 
idea of hers without a struggle. “ I know 
a place where they make such things, or 
rather I know a woman that’s been working 
there for years, and it’s likely she could tell 
something about it — whether there’d be any 
chance of their giving out more work. There 
won’t be any harm in asking, and I mean to 
do it.” 

She kept her word, and in a few days re- 
ported that her acquaintance had inquired at 
the factory and thought some work might be 
obtained. They had only a small amount to 
give out then — of the more common boxes, 
with which alone a novice would be trusted. 
It would furnish employment for the pres- 
ent, and permanent occupation at any time 
would depend upon the skill and taste 
evinced in the work. 

Small as the beginning was, Louise ac- 
cepted it gladly. It was better than the 
sewing, at least for her, since she soon ac- 
quired greater skill in it and could do it 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


131 


more rapidly. The work suited her neat, 
deft fingers, and she speedily learned both 
daintiness and despatch in its accomplish- 
ment. She gave to it at first only spare 
hours, as she had been told there was no 
necessity for the immediate return of the 
boxes; and when at last they were com- 
pleted and delivered she was agreeably sur- 
prised at receiving at once a fresh order and 
larger quantity of material. Still, she did 
not venture to bestow all her time upon it, 
so slender had been the hope held out to 
her of regular employment, but interspersed 
meantime what sewing she could do, until, 
returning her boxes time after time, she 
found that more were given her — more dif- 
ficult and delicate work too — without any 
intimation of failure in the supply. 

It brought but small compensation, but it 
was work that she could do at home, that 
received prompt payment, and it was no 
trifling Item in their slender income. So 
she grew more restful and content as she 
found herself working steadily with the 
one purpose, though its fulfillment looked 
far off now — Susie’s journey to New York. 


132 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


By her sister’s work-table Susie often lin- 
gered wistfully, passing her fingers slowly 
over the smooth papers and the glossy 
pictures. 

If I could see only a little — -just enough 
to help !” she said sometimes — not often, 
however; she was learning to repress the 
utterance of the wish that could not be 
gratified — that only awakened afresh the 
pain of those around her. I wonder,” 
she questioned one day, “ if I couldn’t learn 
to fold the papers? It seems as if I might, 
with the paste-board for a guide.” 

She secured a sheet of waste paper and 
began experimenting with it, trying again 
and again for hours, failing often, but at 
last succeeding in the simple task that 
sight would have rendered so easy. 

I can do it !” she cried, a glow of pleas- 
ure flushing her pale cheeks. 

After that she sat often by Louise’s table, 
folding the papers with slow-moving, careful 
fingers, pathetic in their very patience. Those 
weeks of darkness had been strange weeks to 
Susie — so long already it seemed to her that 
she had been shut out from light and all the 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


133 


world, and shut in to herself. The loneliness 
of her sorrow oppressed her. Others loved 
her, were near her, but they could neither 
lighten nor enter into the gloom that en- 
shrouded her. She felt separated from 
them, isolated. There were times when all 
human voices sounded afar off — when the 
long black future looked unendurable, and 
she could find no words for the chill, awful 
dread that weighed upon her spirit. 

Many times, in the hours when she sat 
quietly with drooping lids, and they could 
not tell whether she were thinking or sleep- 
ing, she recalled those last words her failing- 
eyes had ever read — the story of the blind 
restored. It was out of terrible darkness 
like this that the wonderful voice had sum- 
moned them into light. How long they had 
waited, perhaps, for His coming — listening, 
as she was listening now, to all the coming 
and going steps in the street, but hoping, 
as she could not, to catch the sound of his 
feet! 

How they must have loved him afterward ! 
Were not they faithful, she wondered, in 
the time of desertion, suffering and cruel 


134 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR, 


death that came to him? She wished she 
had read more of these things when she 
could have done it so easily — that they were 
familiar to her now. There was so much 
she wanted to know about that marvelous 
Life that had grown to have such a new 
interest to her. 

“ I suppose it’s because I can’t see, and I 
think so much, that makes it seem sometimes 
so real to me — almost like something that 
might be now, instead of only what hap- 
pened so long ago,” she said to Miss Ruey. 


“‘But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 
A present help is He ; 

And faith hath still its Olivet, 

And love its Galilee. 

The healing of his seamless dress 
Is by our beds of pain ; 

We touch him in life’s throng and press. 
And we are whole again,’ ” 


Miss Ruey replied in one of the fragments 
of verse stowed away in her memory, and 
which she loved to repeat. But she did not 
explain. It seldom occurred to her that the 
truths she knew so well and held so precious, 
and the promises on which she rested, were 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 135 


any less familiar to those around her than 
to herself. 

Susie but dimly understood. Many times 
afterward she repeated to herself, as nearly 
as she could remember them, the words 
whose sweetness she felt without being able 
wholly to comprehend. Did Miss Kuey 
mean that he was really the same as then ? 
No, that could not be. He was in heaven 
now, high and lifted up, to be worshiped in 
prayer and praise, all-seeing and all-power- 
ful indeed, but it was all so different from the 
time when in human form he walked among 
men — when they could press to his very feet 
with their petitions, hear his voice and feel 
his touch. There were many blind ones in 
the world now, but none of them ever raised 
the joyful cry, ‘‘Jesus the Lord hath given 
me sight!” Susie whispered mournfully to 
herself. 

So her thoughts went back again and again 
to that old^n time in which it seemed to her 
it would have been so blessed to live, since 
no boon would have been impossible with 
the Christ within reach. Did any ever 
watch in vain along roads where he never 


136 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


passed? And out of her pondering and 
questioning, the longing to know more of 
the story which so haunted her, grew at 
last the courage to ask for it when Louise 
one day offered to read to her. 

“Will you read the Bible, Louise? I’d 
rather have that than anything else, if you 
don’t mind,” she said timidly, but very earn- 
estly. 

Louise looked at her wonderingly. The 
Bible ! That was for churches and sick 
people. But then this was pretty nearly the 
same thing — poor blind Susie ! The request 
touched her afresh with a sense of her sister’s 
affliction, and she did not speak the surprise 
she looked, but after a moment’s hesitation 
answered only with an assenting monosyl- 
lable : 

“ Well !” 

She might have opened at any of the 
kingly chronicles or genealogies, for aught 
she knew of seeking any special portion as 
appropriate or comforting; but Susie di- 
rected her: 

“Some of those places where it tells of 
Jesus healing the blind, Louise. There’s a 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


137 


chapter in St. John, if you don’t know 
about any others. Find that, please, and 
then read on from there. I want to know 
what came afterward.” 

A slow turning of the leaves, and at last 
the unskilled seeker found the place and 
began to read, while Susie listened with 
the eager intentness of one who must hear 
the words once for all and remember, since 
she could not read them again. Her earn- 
est interest surprised Louise, and when she 
had read through several chapters and 
closed the book, she said, 

‘‘Why, Sue, you have heard all that 
before !” 

“ Yes — I don’t know ; it hardly seems as 
if I ever had,” answered Sue uncertainly. 
Of one thing she was sure : it had never 
been the same to her before, never held for 
her as much meaning, confused and dim 
though that meaning was to her now. She 
thought of^the words and studied them in 
the lonely darkness that shut her in — of 
those strange sweet sentences, “I am the 
door of the sheep “ By me, if any man 
enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in 


138 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


and out and find pasture.” They had a 
sound of rest and refuge and home. Then 
those other words, more wonderful still, 
spoken to the mourning sisters : “ I am the 
resurrection and the life; he that believeth 
in me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
live. And whosoever liveth, and believeth 
in me, shall never die.” She pictured that 
scene vividly, as it might seem if Nat were 
dead and she and Louise had sent that mes- 
sage. 

Other readings followed that first one, but 
they were infrequent and irregular in those 
busy, hurried days, in which Susie found 
only rare half hours when any one was suf- 
ficiently at leisure for her to prefer her re- 
quest. All the more perhaps because of 
that she prized the chapters when they came, 
and treasured and pondered them. Slowly 
her knowledge of the word grew, her famil- 
iarity with that Life in which all our lives 
are hidden, and she began to understand 
why it might be more to Miss Ruey than 
merely an olden story. 

So, while she was searching in the long- 
ago and in far-away Judea for Him, the 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


139 


hand pierced for her sake was knocking at 
the door of her heart, that the Lord might 
enter and abide ; a tender voice was saying, 
“ The Master saith unto thee. Where is the 
guest-chamber 

‘‘ I used to wish,” she said to Miss Ruey 
one day when the longing and hungry ques- 
tioning found its way at last into words, 
‘Hhat I could go to the Lord, as they used 
to do, to ask for my sight ; but now it seems 
as if I could not be quite satisfied with only 
that or any gift — as if I wanted himself.” 

“True, dear; nothing else does satisfy 
any of us,” Miss Ruey answered with her 
quiet smile. 

“ If I only could ! if I knew what to do !” 
said Susie wistfully in unfinished sentences. 

Her look and tone, more than her words, 
awakened Miss Ruey to a partial under- 
standing of Susie’s ignorance and bewilder- 
ment. , 

“ Why, child, it isn’t like that,” she said. 
“ You never wanted him till he wanted you, 
and found you too. It isn’t as if you must 
go searching for him with something that 
you can do, but that he has come to you, of- 


140 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


fering what he has done. You have only to 
accept. ’Tisn’t that you must go out some- 
where and buy; it’s just opening to One 
who stands at your door with a gift : ‘ Be- 
hold I stand at the door, and knock. If 
any man hear my voice and open the door, I 
will come in to him, and will sup with him, 
and he with me.’ That’s the way it is; 
don’t you see?” 

“ But I’ve been so selfish and wrong about 
a good many things ! I didn’t use to think 
so, but I know it now ; and I never tried to 
learn about any of these things when I 
could see,” began Susie doubtfully, after a 
moment’s silent thought. 

‘‘‘The blood of Jesus Christ his Son 
cleanseth us from all sin,’ ” interposed Miss 
Buey. 

“And I’m afraid — I’m sure — I can’t be 
real good even now,” Susie added. 

“ Child, it isn’t our righteousness that is 
anything, or even can be ; it’s his that avails 
for us. That’s counted as if it were ours,” 
explained Miss Buey earnestly. “ Jesus 
takes our sins and gives us his merit. Trust 
all that to him ; you’ve nothing else to do.” 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


141 


A light was breaking slowly over Susie’s 
face. 

“ If I only knew, and could be just sure 
that all those promises meant me!” she 
said. 

“ ‘ Whosoever ’ — doesn’t that mean you ? 
‘Whosoever will’ — that’s what the Lord 
himself has said. Can’t you believe his 
own words ?” 

“ Oh, I am so glad I” the girl answered 
simply, but the look that swept over the pale 
face emphasized the words. 

Into that kingdom that “ cometh not with 
observation ” another soul had entered as a 
willing and loyal subject. Susie groped her 
slow way across the street that evening, with 
eyes darkened to all the outer world still, but 
beholding “ the King in his beauty.” She 
turned an unseeing glance to the sunset sky, 
but whispered softly the words Miss Kuey 
had once repeated with faint hope of their 
comforting : “ The sun shall be no more thy 
light by day, neither for brightness shall the 
moon give light unto thee : but the Lord 
shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and 
thy God thy glory.” 


142 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Susie did not know wkere the words be- 
longed — only somewhere in the Bible — and 
she wondered even while she uttered them 
if she should ever come to them in the ir- 
regular readings that only could be hers — 
wondered with the old longing to ‘‘know 
what came afterward.” When they found 
she cared so much for the one book, they 
offered to read to her from it sometimes — 
Louise, the mother in her rare moments of 
leisure, and even little Billy now and then. 
But at last the service came oftenest from 
one whom she had not thought of asking — 
Nat, tired from his day’s work at the mill, 
but with no special occupation for his 
evenings. 

“I’ll read to you a while if you like, 
Susie,” he said one evening, noticing the 
momentary disappointment in her face when 
Billy summarily closed the volume he had 
but just opened, and ran away on some for- 
gotten errand suddenly recalled. 

“ If you were not so tired at night — ” she 
answered hesitatingly. 

“ Oh, that’s all the more reason,” he said 
cheerily. “ You see, I get sleepy in a little 


LIGHT SHINING IN DABKNESS. 


143 


while reading to myself, because I’m so busy 
all day. I suppose that sitting still makes 
me drowsy ; and maybe I’ll keep awake if 
I read aloud. What book did Billy have ?” 
taking it up as he spoke. “ Oh ! this ?” 

There was a curious falling inflection in 
the utterance of the last words, but he cov- 
ered it in a moment : Well, we’ll read this, 
if you like.” 

It was only because she liked. He con- 
fided to Louise that it ‘‘seemed queer and 
solemn, sort of like a church, to be just 
reading that. But then if she fancied it, 
poor Sue ! Anything to give her pleasure.” 

Her face with its earnestness, the new 
look of restfulness that came to it as she 
listened, was a sufficient reward to him, and 
he repeated his ofier until, almost uncon- 
sciously, he found himself growing inte- 
rested. 

“See here,” he said, stopping short one 
day, “ I’ve heard of all these things before 
in a kind of here-and-there, now-and-then 
way, like taking bits of a picture at ran- 
dom, upside down or anyhow, without even 
having them fitted together. One never 


144 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


gets much idea of what the whole is like 
in that way. This seems different when 
you take it along so, chapter after chapter 
as they belong ; it’s more like a real history 
or story to get interested in, and not just a 
lot of texts: that’s mostly what the Bible 
has always seemed to me. Suppose we be- 
gin at the beginning of this,” laying his 
hand on the New Testament, ‘‘and read it 
regularly through ? I don’t believe I know 
much about it, after all.” 

“ Oh, I’d like it so much !” she said eager- 
ly, surprised and gladdened by the unex- 
pected proposition. “I’ve so often wished 
I had done it when I could see, and 
now — ” 

That unfinished sentence would have de- 
cided the unselfish, warm-hearted Nat if he 
had spoken only for her sake ; and he turn- 
ed at once to the first chapter and began, 
reading somewhat stumblingly through the 
list of names of whose owners he knew no- 
thing, until he reached what he deemed the 
real history of “ him who was born King 
of the Jews.” 

Afterward, evening after evening, the 



Nat reads to his blind sister. 


Page 144 




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LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


145 


brother and sister sat together by the old 
table in the little kitchen — Susie with bent 
head, the hands, grown white and slender 
with their enforced idleness, clasped in her 
lap, her eyes that could not see the form 
beside her beholding far-away Judea ; while 
Nat, his rugged face bent over the book, his 
toil-hardened fingers turning slowly the 
leaves, read the strange history, pausing 
occasionally for question or comment. 

Nat was inclined to make thorough work 
of the reading when he began to feel inter- 
ested in it; he wanted to turn backward 
and forward for information, and to search 
out in an old commentary some account of 
the kings and rulers mentioned. He found 
the evenings growing pleasant to him. 

When a fellow hasn’t studied anything 
for so long, there’s a sort of enjoyment in 
beginning again. I believe I always did 
like history — what little I got of it when I 
was at school,” he said. 

It might have been only the history that 
had any attraction for him now, yet there 
were sentences sometimes that lingered with 
him through the long days at the mill — 

10 


146 VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 

words that haunted him with their beauty, 
their mystery or their deep meaning. There 
was time for thinking in those dreary winter 
days when the sun shone but faintly through 
the rows of soiled and dusty windows and 
lay in dim patches on the worn and black- 
ened floor, while the machinery reached out 
and drew back its long iron arms unceas- 
ingly and the steady looms wove the many 
threads into one. The regular, monotonous 
rattle and roar shut out human voices and 
left others to whisper at will. 

Gloomy, foreboding voices those others 
had often been to Nat, reminding him of his 
father’s wretched life, of the poverty, care 
and suffering at home, and of his own 
cramped and darkened boyhood ; question- 
ing, torturingly, whether it must go on so 
always; how he could ever hope to reach 
anything higher or better while dire neces- 
sity bound him to this toilsome round ; and 
what was to become of them all in the years 
that were coming. Mechanically attending 
to his work, he had thought and planned 
through many a day, almost despairingly, 
but now, sometimes, there mingled among 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


147 


these doubts and fears strange, new utter- 
ances, as if a pitying, reassuring voice had 
spoken : Are ye not of more value than 

many sparrows T Your heavenly Father 
knoweth that ye have need of all these 
things.” 

Outwardly, the home-life went on with 
but little change, except that Nat could not 
obtain as much extra work as he had done 
earlier in the season. Each month they 
looked forward, wondering how they should 
meet the next; how obtain what must be 
had ; how do without what could not be 
procured. The hope of medical treatment 
for Susie, though they worked toward it 
still, seemed postponed indefinitely. After 
the night when the money was stolen they 
neither saw nor heard anything of the mis- 
erable father for several days, and when at 
last he returned, silent and sullen, no one 
questioned him concerning the loss or up- 
braided him with it — not so much from any 
motives of pity or pardon, as because it 
would have been useless or worse. 

But Susie had come to that “ whatsoever 
ye ask in my name,” and it was then that 


148 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


she first began to pray for her father. If 
that marked any epoch in the family history, 
they did not know it then, so quietly was 
that word making its entrance which like 
a leaven should yet permeate all their lives. 

To Miss Ruey, as it was natural that she 
should, Susie carried many of her questions 
and perplexities, doubts and troubles, that 
those nearest to her could not understand. 

‘^Some days I feel so sure, so content!’’ 
she said. “ And then at other times I don’t 
know — I don’t feel as I ought.” 

Well,” answered Miss Ruey reassuringly, 
‘‘ it’s a blessed thing that it isn’t our feelings 
that saves us; it’s the Lord. We haven’t 
got to be satisfied with them, but with him.” 

“ But sometimes I think maybe I am not 
his at all,” confessed Susie mournfully. 

‘‘ It doesn’t so much matter what you 
think about that, child, as what he thinks. 
It’s his word that settles it : ‘ Whosoever be- 
lie veth on the Son hath everlasting life.’ If 
you believe, you have the life, however your 
feelings are. I suppose,” continued Miss 
Ruey thoughtfully, ‘‘ that dreadful night in 
Egypt, when the destroying angel went 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. 


149 


through the land, all the Israelites sitting in 
their houses didn’t feel alike. Most likely 
some of them felt trusting and not a bit 
afraid, while others shivered and trembled, 
and didn’t know whether they’d live or die. 
But they were all alike safe if the blood- 
mark was over the door ; that made the 
safety, though of course the believing, trust- 
ing ones felt a great deal the happiest. You 
see ’tisn’t our feelings, Susie ; they go up 
and down, here and there, but the Lord is 
the same yesterday, to-day and for ever.” 

Miss Hannah’s entrance ended the conver- 
sation. Susie never felt like talking before 
her as she loved to do with Miss Huey alone, 
but she was ready now to turn with light- 
ened heart to a consideration of the work 
Miss Hannah brought in — a dress for poor 
vagabond little Tony. The child had come, 
according to direction, to be measured for 
the garment, and had been carefully watched 
by Miss Hannah’s sharp eyes while she re- 
mained — a fact Tony had not been slow to 
discover or hesitated to comment upon : 

“ You needn’t be afraid ; I won’t touch no 
more of your oranges.” 


160 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


‘‘ I don’t know about that/’ said Miss 
Hannah, by way of impressing her with the 
evil results of dishonesty. ‘‘When folks 
steal once, nobody knows when to trust 
them afterward.” 

“Nobody won’t trust me anyhow, nor 
father either, ’cause he’s tried to get bread 
and meat from the store often, and the man 
won’t let him have it unless he pays,” an- 
swered Tony composedly. “ Going to make 
my dress out of that ?” 

Miss Hannah groaned inwardly, never- 
theless she persevered in her work. It was 
not very speedily accomplished, for she was 
not an expert dressmaker, and Tony was re- 
quired to appear several times to have it tried 
and fitted— a part of the programme that suit- 
ed the child well. She had plenty of time, 
and few places except the street in which to 
spend it ; and she liked passing through the 
shop into the neat little sitting-room, where 
the rag carpet and bright stove, the box of 
flowers in the window and the old-fashioned 
clock in the corner, were all curiosities to 
her. She was well content to linger and 
look about her while Miss Hannah ripped 


LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS, 151 

and basted, pinned and unpinned. She liked 
too to watch Miss Kuey — That white, still 
little woman, that looks so kind of clean and 
like sunshine,’’ she said to Billy, trying to 
describe what had impressed her in the 
gentle peaceful face that smiled so kindly 
upon her. 

At last the dress was finished, and Tony 
surveyed herself in it with great satisfaction. 
Miss Hannah thought there ought to be some 
other feeling also, and made an effort to call 
it forth : 

“ Now, Tony — if that’s your name, though 
I do say it don’t sound fit for a girl — I’ve 
taken a good deal of trouble with that.” 

“ Yes’m,” said Tony, examining the sleeve 
and patting approvingly the strip of bright 
braid with which it was finished. 

Well, you ought to feel very grateful.” 

‘‘Yes’m, I do,” said Tony coolly. 

“I hope so, I’m sure,” answered Miss 
Hannah doubtfully. “But saying so don’t 
amount to much; how’ll you try to show 
it?” 

“ P’rade up and down ’fore Peg Flaher- 
ty’s windows and make her mad as two 


152 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


hoes/’ declared Tony promptly. ‘^Show it? 
Guess I will ! She hasn’t got a rag that be- 
gins to be as good as this and she tossed 
her head and minced across the room in 
imitation of the promenade with which she 
intended to favor Mrs. Flaherty. 

Miss Hannah despairingly allowed her to 
depart. 

‘‘ The little heathen ! I do say it’s time 
she had a dress decent enough to let her 
into Sunday-school or some place where 
she can learn — if anybody can teach her 
anything. Well, I’ve done my duty.” 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

IN WHISKY ROW. 

rriHE butcher, the baker, the candlestick- 

J- maker,’ and all of them not ‘ gone to 
the fair,’ but out on the street, I think, and 
taking the opportunity to ring our door-bells, 
one at a time,” soliloquized Jessie Barclay, 
half laughing, half vexed, as she carefully 
deposited sleeping Blossom in the cradle and 
prepared to answer the bell for the fourth or 
fifth time that morning. Who next, I won- 
der ? I’ve already declined a superior article 
of soap and a lotion to cure all the ills that 
flesh is heir to, besides refusing to supply 
myself with a new-fashioned stew-pan and 
a history of the war. Queer that everybody 
must seize upon this day to call, when Ann 
is away and Bridget sick with one of her 
headaches !” 

A second and more vigorous peal sound- 

♦ 153 


154 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


ing through the hall quickened her move- 
ments, and carefully closing the door, that 
Blossom might not be disturbed, she* ran 
down stairs. This time it was no vender 
of goods, but a little boy who occupied the 
steps. 

‘‘ Mother said fur me to tell ye she’d like 
fur ye to come ’round, ’cause Jakey hain’t 
no better,” he observed, with his eyes stead- 
fastly fixed on the doorstone. 

“ ‘ Jakey ’ ?” Jessie repeated, trying to iden- 
tify her visitor. Do you live on the moun- 
tain ?” 

No’m — down in the Bow.” 

‘‘I don’t remember,” said Jessie slowly, 
groping among her various experiences. “ Is 
Jakey a baby? Was he sick when I called 
at your house one day ?” she questioned. 

“Yes’m,” answered the boy in the same 
expressionless tone, his hands in his pock- 
ets, his eyes still downcast. 

I know the place, then, I think. Yes, I 
will come. Tell your mother I will come to- 
day.” 

‘‘She’ll be ’bliged, ’cause she says there 
hain’t nothin’ to make the chicken-broth 


IN WHISKY ROW. 


155 


out’n,” the boy remarked — “nothin’ but 
the bones what’s been cooked twice ; an’ she 
says there hain’t no more good in ’em than 
chips.” 

A faint smile crossed Jessie’s lips at the 
opinion so solemnly expressed, yet the want 
at which it hinted might be pitiful enough. 
She repeated her promise : 

“ I will come. Tell your mother I will 
see what can be done.” 

The boy drew a long, audible breath, as 
if relieved that his errand was discharged, 
and, making his way decorously to the gate, 
started from that point at full speed. 

Jessie knew less of the people in the 
“ E.OW ” and its neighborhood than of those 
up on the mountain. The cabins had at- 
tracted her first by their picturesque sur- 
roundings and their nearness to the mines. 
She had noticed them often in her rambles 
before she knew much of their inmates, and 
had grown acquainted with them and their 
wants gradually. Yet many of the miners 
and the larger number of men employed 
about the two shafts lived at the foot of the 
mountain. It was not a pleasant neighbor- 


156 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


hood in any respect. The dingy houses 
were wondrously alike in their cheerless- 
ness. Occasionally a clean yard or neatly- 
curtained window broke the monotony, but 
they were too few to redeem the generally 
forlorn aspect of the place ; and the weather- 
beaten, unpainted buildings, the dirty chil- 
dren playing about the doors and in the 
street, the road cut into deep ruts by heavy 
wagons and black with coal-dust and the 
smoke that from furnaces and chimneys 
overhung it all like a thick dark cloud, 
made a dreary and uninviting picture. 

The locality had gained an unenviable 
reputation too for affrays, drunkenness and 
general lawlessness — a notoriety which had 
rapidly increased during the la^t year, until 
the mere fact of living on ‘‘ Coal Kidge ” or 
in the vicinity of ‘‘Whisky Eow,’' as the 
newspapers had dubbed the settlement be- 
low, was in itself, if not a positive stigma, 
at least a cause for suspicion. Nevertheless, 
the women-faces that looked out from the 
doors and windows were very human, and, 
passing there so often, Mrs. Barclay had 
occasionally stopped to speak with them — 


IN WHISKY ROW. 


157 


to seek some direction at first or to beg a 
glass of water for Robbie, who sometimes 
accompanied her, and who, childlike, grew 
thirsty at the most inconvenient places. 
Afterward, when she recognized them at 
the gate or doorway, she had paused now 
and then to talk a few minutes. In this 
way she had made the acquaintance of 
‘‘Jakey” — ^she remembered now that small 
wailing bundle wrapped in a shawl — and 
the mother who had invited her in to look 
at the sick child. 

She found the place readily, and the 
woman opening the door led the way with 
scarcely a word to the bed where the little 
one lay, wasted to a mere skeleton now, its 
fretting changed to a feeble moan. 

“ I don’t know what ails him, or if any- 
body can do any good. I’ve done all I 
know,” said the mother, looking at him 
with dull eyes. ‘‘ I thought I’d send — you 
said to, if you could be any help — but I 
don’t know if it’s any use.” 

“Have you had any one to see him — a 
doctor?” asked Jessie. 

“Yes. One of the men up on the hill 


158 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


got his foot mashed^ and they sent for a 
doctor for him. I watched till he came 
back, and called him in to Jakey ; but he 
didn’t say much, only left a bit of a powder 
for him, and said, ‘ Give him a little broth 
now and then.’ I don’t know if that’s any 
good, but I’ve done it — some. I’ve done 
all I know,” she repeated. Then, as her 
visitor raised one of the tiny wasted hands, 
she added, More’n a year and a half old, 
but he don’t look like it. Won’t never be 
much older, ’tain’t likely.” 

Mrs. Barclay looked wonderingly at the 
heavy eyes that did not droop or moisten. 
She did not think it probable the child 
would live, but she held out the possibility 
of it to this mother as she would have clung 
to it herself. 

‘‘ You must not give up all hope yet,” she 
said ; “ he may live.” 

If he don’t he’ll miss a deal of trouble,” 
said another woman, a neighbor, coming for- 
ward from the corner where she had been sit- 
ting. — ‘‘ ’Tain’t for you to be frettin,’ Mar- 
get, like folks where there’s less mouths an’ 
more to fill ’em.” 


IN WHISKY BOW. 


159 


It was coarse consolation, but the mother 
seemed to appreciate its force. 

‘‘True enough,” she said. “Not that I 
grudge what I’d give him or do for him — 
the child ! — but he’ll be better off away ; so 
would the rest the same.” 

“No, no, do not think that, do not say 
it !” exclaimed Jessie, shuddering at the 
matter-of-course way in which the last words 
were spoken. “ How could you live without 
your children, hard as it is to provide for 
them? — and I know in these times it is 
hard, very hard, for many of the poor peo- 
ple here.” 

“ It’s all of us I meant, not them. And 
it’s not saying that I don’t love mine as 
ladies love theirs,” she flashed out suddenly 
at the look on Mrs. Barclay’s face. “ But 
you don’t know the hardness. ’Twould be 
different if you’d see things get worse and 
worse, blacker and blacker, all the time 
’round your own, and no signs of anything 
better — everything going and nothing com- 
ing. My John ain’t like some,” she added 
with a sidelong glance at her neighbor. 
“ He worked as long as he could get it, and 


160 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


brouglit home the money too, and now, after 
all, it’s like this.” 

“What wonder if more of ’em do drink 
to forget all their troubles ?” interrupted the 
other woman sullenly. “ ’Tain’t me that 
would blame ’em ; they must do something. 
Rich folks can’t tell.” 

“ They’ve said the upper shaft would open 
soon — to wait quiet and the work would be 
plenty soon ; and it’s spring now, and no 
moves to it yet,” continued the mother of 
the child, unheeding the other’s remark. 
“ Some says, ‘ Go away.’ And how can a 
man go with times dull everywhere, and no- 
where to go to, and no money to take him, 
and nothing to leave to keep his children ? 
So he stays and does what bits of work he 
can, thrown out more’n half the time, and 
waits. And John says ’tain’t the rich men 
that owns it all that’s getting poorer: the 
loss is all to us folks, and there’s no right to 
it — and I don’t know,” she concluded, with 
the look of one wronged and defrauded, 
though unable to tell how or by whom. 
She could not unravel the tangle. 

Jessie said nothing of supply and demand, 


IN WHISKY ROW. ^ 


161 


of capital and labor, and the rights and du- 
ties of each. She did not attempt to explain 
the subject; the problem was far too deep 
for her solving, and to their question of 
what they were to do if there was not work 
soon she could only answer sadly, 

‘‘I do not know, except to wait and to 
bear as trustingly as you can. God does 
care.” 

“And it’s easy for you, who have full and 
plenty, to say so,” commented the neighbor 
in her hard voice. 

It was true. Jessie felt it, glancing at 
her soft, warm dress, thinking of her shel- 
tered home. 

“ Yes, I know ; it must seem so to you,” 
she answered with dimmed eyes. 

Her honest tears brought her nearer to 
them than any words could have done. 

“’Twas kind of you to come to Jakey ; 
I’m not forgettin’ that,” the mother said in a 
softer tone, lifting the little basket Mrs. Bar- 
clay had brought, and beginning to remove 
the delicacies it contained. 

A slight convulsive movement drew Jes- 
sie’s attention again to the child, and her 
11 


162 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


summons recalled the mother. A change 
had passed over the little face ; the breath 
came shorter and fainter, ceased for a mo- 
ment, came again in a feeble, fluttering 
gasp, then was gone, and the little sufferer 
was at rest. Jessie tenderly closed the eyes 
that had looked so little way into our human 
life, bathed the tiny form and straightened 
the baby limbs, robbed of all their round- 
ness. Then she went away, promising to 
return in the morning. 

Outside, the south wind blew softly and 
whispered of the presence of spring. A 
faint sweetness was in the air, as if it had 
gathered already the breath of far-away vio- 
lets. Gleams of bright blue smiled down 
through rifts in the clouded sky, and on 
sunny southern slopes patches of pale green 
verdure were beginning to show. All Na- 
ture was telling a story of fresh life and 
hope that those darkened homes did not 
know. The contrast pressed heavily on Jes- 
sie’s heart as she walked slowly homeward. 

‘‘ It is hard,” her husband answered when 
she told him at night of her visit and of 
what the women had said. ‘‘ It is all tan- 


IN WHISKY BOW. 


163 


gled and wrong to them — only the pain and 
privation are clear and distinct enough — and 
we can scarcely wonder if, reasoning about 
it in blind and desperate fashion, they do 
sometimes feel almost ready to believe the 
world in league against them, and every one 
better off than themselves an oppressor. I 
hear a great deal of fierce, unreasonable talk 
that I should scarcely endure with any pa- 
tience if I did not now and then imagine 
myself in their place. I tell you, Jessie, I 
can understand how a man, sitting day after 
day in his comfortless home and seeing his 
wife and little ones suffer, may look down 
on his strong hands — so able and willing to 
work, and yet denied the chance — and grow 
maddened and desperate. Only a strong 
faith that the Lord's ‘kingdom ruleth over 
all,’ and that he is our Father tender and pit- 
iful, could save from it ; and the most of these 
people are ignorant in all such knowledge.” 

“And they will not listen to it now,” 
Jessie said, “ though so many of them are 
making matters worse, and growing worse 
themselves, by the course they are taking — 
squandering what little they have in drunk- 


164 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


enness. Cade’’ — wistfully, questioningly — 
‘‘you do not know at all when that upper 
shaft will be open again ? If you could 
give me any definite word for them, any 
prospect — ” 

“ I cannot, Jessie ; I do not know. I have 
used what influence I have, urged the matter 
even more than I felt my position warranted 
for their sakes, and because I really believe 
it would be no loss to the company. But it 
is postponed from one time to another. They 
do not view it as I do. They see no positive 
profit in beginning now, and as for keeping 
the men, they are quite willing that they 
should scatter; more can easily be found 
when the work is ready for them.” 

“ Oh, Cade, it is all so hard and so hope- 
less!” Jessie sighed. 

He answered with his grave smile, as he 
had often answered before : 

“Little woman, do not try to take the 
whole world on your shoulders. We can 
only do our best, however little that may 
be; but beyond that is His strength who 
can do all, and who is far wiser and kind- 
er than we.” 


IN WHISKY BOW. 


165 


“Yes.” Jessie’s heart settled back upon 
that remembrance with a long, restful breath. 
“ It is such a comfort to drop all the tangles 
into his hands !” she said. 

It was what she was wont to do with them 
always — the troubling, perplexing things that 
she could not straighten or bring into order; 
the tangled, twisted threads where she could 
find neither beginning nor end, which yet 
made rough places, great or small, in her 
own life or the lives of others. She was 
learning to drop them all into his hands, 
sure of their tireless patience and infinite 
loving power. 

“Cade,” she said thoughtfully later that 
evening, “what if we should give up the 
improvements we planned for the house and 
grounds this year, and do with as little as we 
can — we are comfortable as we are, almost 
wickedly comfortable, I feel sometimes — 
and so have the more left to give these 
people ?” 

“Not to ffive them. We can do better 
than that by using it in a way that will 
give employment to as many of them as 
possible. I can find a way, and I should be 


166 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


very glad to do it if you are willing. It will 
be a positive relief to me, as well as to them,’’ 
he answered with brightening face. ‘‘I have 
thought sometimes of proposing it, only that 
I knew you had planned so much.” 

‘‘Oh, Cade,” she interrupted suddenly, 
earnestly, “ never grow selfish for my sake — 
never let me do it because of my ignorance 
of things that you know. ‘ Christ first ’ it 
must be with us always.” 

When she sought the house in the “ Kow ” 
the next morning she carried with her some 
of the choicest blossoms from her plants and 
a pretty, simple white dress of her own baby’s. 
The mother watched while she robed the tiny 
sleeper, and seemed to derive a strange com- 
fort from the garment’s dainty whiteness. 

“So fine and clean and soft!” she said, 
passing her fingers over it with lingering 
touch. “ It seems sort of resting to see him 
in it — like he was well cared for and didn’t 
just belong here, with everything this way. 
I don’t know — ” She finished the sentence, 
or rather left it unfinished, in her common 
groping way. Then, as Jessie placed flow- 
ers on the pillow and in the little hand, 


IN WHISKY BOW. 


167 


she looked up at her : You’re very kind. 
I hope ’twon’t never come to you.” 

There seemed but scant thanks in the ac- 
knowledgment, but the merest humanity in 
the wish ; but they meant more than that 
or the woman would not have spoken at all. 
Jessie tried to tell her something of the land 
to which her baby had gone, of the loving 
Lord who had called him thither; but she 
received little response, and could not tell 
whether her words awakened any interest, 
or whether they were simply endured for 
the sake of what she had done. 

She had planned to go up on the moun- 
tain that morning, but had lingered longer 
in the house below than she had intended, and 
she had but just begun the ascent when she 
met a number of men with flushed, excited 
faces, talking angrily as they hurried down 
the road. They were too much engrossed 
with their subject to heed her, and she 
caught a word or two — only enough to as- 
sure her that there had been some fresh 
trouble or outbreak at the mines. She 
paused a moment, irresolute whether to pro- 
ceed or return, and while she did so another 


168 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


party appeared — policemen in charge of two 
or three men. Looking beyond them farther 
up the mountain, she discovered other groups 
still, and turning she slowly retraced her 
steps. 

Mr. Barclay was late in returning that 
evening. The children were asleep and 
Jessie wandering anxiously from window to 
door, weaving her slight knowledge of the 
morning’s trouble into a variety of miser- 
able improbabilities, when he appeared. It 
had been a hard, wearing day, he said 
wearily. Some damage had been done to 
the tramway the night before — rails torn 
up and the track destroyed for some dis- 
tance. What had been the motive for the 
deed it was impossible to say It might 
have sprung from the general ill-feeling 
toward the mining company, or have re- 
sulted from one of the many quarrels be- 
tween some of the miners and men who 
worked at the lading — a plan for revenge 
upon the latter by stopping their work and 
causing them loss. Liquor had been a prime 
mover in it evidently, for men not intoxicated 
would not have chosen so stupid a plot nor 


IN WHISKY ROW. 


169 


have carried it out so bunglingly as to ren- 
der the discovery of the perpetrators nearly 
certain. 

The disturbance occasioned by the whole 
affair would have been comparatively trivial 
had it not been for the smothered bitterness 
and ill-feeling that were so prevalent — a 
smouldering fire always ready to burst into 
flame. As it was, some words spoken by 
Mr. Leavitt — who, unfortunately, paid a 
visit to the shaft early that morning — 
aroused vindictiveness and opposition at 
once. 

‘‘ He is not slow to express his opinion at 
any time, and as he was particularly angry 
when he first discovered the mischief, he 
designated the doers of it by some adjec- 
tives not altogether undeserved perhaps,’’ 
said Mr. Barclay, smiling faintly at the re- 
membrance, ‘‘ but which had better not have 
been used there and by him, for he is not 
at all popular now. His fiery threat that 
the guilty ones should be prosecuted to the 
utmost extent of the law was answered 
with scowls and muttered remarks that 
even he could not fail to understand, 


170 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


though he made a pretence of doing so. 
Still, there was no positive resistance when 
the criminals were finally tracked and ar- 
rested, nor even any actual collision between 
the men themselves, as I feared there might 
be ; for they were divided, the lading-men 
angry at having their work interfered with. 
But they have been in a turbulent, excited 
state all day, seemingly just ready for an 
outbreak of some sort if only the slightest 
occasion offered. 

‘‘ By way of mending matters and restor- 
ing good-nature, Mr. Leavitt tried something 
that he considered a stroke of policy, I pre- 
sume. After the officers had made their ar- 
rests and were gone he turned to the sullen 
crowd near him with a congratulatory re- 
mark upon ‘our success,’ thanked them for 
their services in the matter, as if they had 
assisted to secure the culprits, and then flung 
some money among them — for a glass of beer 
to freshen them up for work again, he said. 
He rode away without stopping to mark the 
effect ; and he would not have found it very 
gratifying if he had not. I heard one fel- 
low remark sneeringly, ‘Ay, ay ! fling away 


IN WHISKY BOW. 


171 


in bribes what ye’d stint from us in hon- 
est wages !’ Nevertheless, the money was 
snatched up in a hurry, and the Mountain- 
eers’ Kest will have an unusual flow of cus- 
tom to-night and furnish something stronger 
than beer.” 

‘‘Furnish material for any amount of 
fresh trouble to-morrow, I suppose?” said 
Jessie anxiously. “ Oh, Cade ! what does 
possess people to be so wickedly careless of 
the real good of others?” 

“ Only Cain’s old question : ‘ Am I my 
brother’s keeper?’” 


CHAPTEK IX. 

THE STING OF THE ADDEB. 

I T was Monday, Miss Hannah’s wash-day, 
and she was busy — in no steaming, soapy, 
dreary kitchen, but in the tidy back room, 
where she had thrown down a large square 
of oilcloth, arranged her tubs upon it, and 
could enjoy her work and Miss Huey’s so- 
ciety together ; for Miss Hannah really did 
enjoy her washing, or prided herself upon 
it, which amounts to nearly the same thing. 
It was one of the fine arts to her, in which 
she would allow no inexperienced fingers to 
intermeddle. 

The door leading to the store was open, 
that she might hear the slightest summons 
there and be ready at a moment’s notice to 
doff her check apron, pull down her sleeves 
and attend upon a customer. The outer door 
was open also, that the soft spring air might 

172 


THE STING OF THE ADDEB. 


173 


sweep in ; and so, with all things comfort- 
ably arranged, she could rub and discourse 
at will. Miss Hannah was unusually talk- 
ative on wash-days. Possibly, the tubs and 
pile of linen suggested dimly a speaker’s 
stand, or more probably, having had all 
Sunday to think in, shut away from her 
accustomed active employment, she had col- 
lected various facts and opinions that needed 
to be brought out, brushed and put away, as 
she did her best clothes, before she was ready 
to settle down to the week’s work. 

Down the street that bright morning 
sauntered with slow and lagging step a for- 
lorn figure — a man shabbily dressed, with 
an old slouched hat pulled low over his 
rough head, unshaven, heavy-eyed and 
seeming miserably out of harmony with 
the fresh, sweet spring-time. He was only 
walking aimlessly, neither noticing nor car- 
ing whither ; but when he reached the long 
step before Miss Hannah’s door, its cleanli- 
ness and sunniness suggested a resting-place, 
and pausing he sat down there. He leaned 
back against the building, drew his hat 
still farther over his face to shield it alike 


174 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


from the light and observation, and dropped 
into sleep or meditation, or a state halfway 
between the two. 

Miss Hannah talked over the sermon she 
had heard the morning before, raising her 
voice the while to make it audible above the 
splashing and rubbing — told what parts of it 
she considered “ good, sound doctrine, such 
as a body can hold onto,’’ and criticised other 
portions that to her didn’t seem to have the 
real gospel sound.” 

‘^For that’s what I judge by,” said Miss 
Hannah, snapping out a handkerchief vig- 
orously. ‘‘ I know real gospel when I hear 
it, if I don’t always get it straight into my 
actions; and I’m bound to say I do hear 
more than I manage to live, most of the 
time,” she confessed honestly. 

Then she gave her opinion of choirs 
where “ they sing all the words in I-talian 
or some other dead language,” and passed 
from that to an exposition of Scripture she 
had heard in the afternoon. 

And talking about meracles,” she 
branched off suddenly, “ they say the age 
for them is past; but I do say for’t, it 


THE STING OF THE ADDER. 


175 


looked ’most like one to me when I met 
that girl, Tony, dressed up decent and com- 
ing out from a Sunday-school like a civil- 
ized child. I didn’t more’n half s’pose 
she’d go when I made the dress, or not go 
only once or twice, anyway ; but she has, 
and she looked up at me smart as you 
please, with some tickets and papers in her 
hand.” 

‘‘ No telling how much good it’ll do,” 
said Miss Ruey, pleased and hopeful. 

“And no telling how soon her drunken 
father’ll get hold of that dress and sell it 
for whisky, so that she can’t go any more,” 
answered Miss Hannah, viewing the matter 
from an opposite point at once. “You 
can’t tell any time what these drunken 
fathers won’t do. Look at that one across 
the street !” 

“ Well, it must be a great trial — ” began 
Miss Ruey, but Miss Hannah interrupted 
sharply : 

“ Trial ain’t no name for it — don’t begin 
to be. I’ve thought about it a good deal 
when I’ve seen him ’round, and I do b’lieve 
if there’s one thing I never could get re- 


176 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


signed to, ’twould be to a husband like that. 
I hain’t never really tried,” she remarked, 
stirring her suds meditatively — “ don’t know 
but I’d ought to, only it didn’t seem likely 
to happen — but I tell you, Ruey, ’twould 
take more’ll a wrastle to get resigned to 
that; ’twould be a reg’lar rough-and-tum- 
ble fight for’t.” 

‘‘Yes, it must be hard for them,” began 
Miss Ruey again. 

“ Hard !” echoed Miss Hannah belliger- 
ently. “ ’Twas hard enough with that poor 
woman sewing night and day, and that boy 
in the factory all these years, when he ought 
to have been in school, and all of them pinch- 
ed and scrimped every way to get along; but 
when it comes to that poor blind child — that 
her own father should steal the money they’d 
saved to have her eyes doctored — I say that’s 
worse than hard. It’s a sin and a shame and 
— outrageous !” she concluded as if the long 
word were at least a relief. 

Neither of them had noticed the reclinins: 
form on the step; they did not observe its 
sudden, startled movement now, as if stung 
by a blow. Miss Hannah saw only her sis- 


THE STING OF THE ADDER, 


\11 


ter’s glance of surprised questioning, and an- 
swered it : 

“ Yes, that’s what he really did. They’re 
all too proud and close- mouthed ever to tell 
of it, of course — and I don’t blame them, 
either — all but little Billy, and he didn’t 
know any better. I knew what the doctor 
here said when he first saw her, so I asked 
the little fellow the other day, innocent as 
could be, whether his sister ever talked about 
going to New York. And he out with the 
whole story — said they all meant to have her 
go, and his ma had sewed, and Nat had done 
extra work, and they’d gone without any new 
things, and at last Louise sold her hair : that’s 
how it came to be bobbed off so short. Well, 
they’d screwed and saved and got enough to- 
gether — fifty dollars in all — and that very 
night that wretch came home drunk and 
stole it all. Sold his daughter’s eyes for 
whisky, that’s what he did !” 

A sound — an inarticulate exclamation or a 
groan — startled Miss Buey. She glanced out 
through the side-window near her, but she 
saw no one. The man on the steps stag- 
gered to his feet, stood for an instant, draw- 
12 


178 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


ing his hand across his forehead as if stunned 
by some sudden shock, then in a bewildered, 
scarcely conscious way moved on down the 
street. ‘‘Susie’s eyes! my poor little Su- 
sie !” he groaned at last, clenching his hands 
as he walked, and quickening his unsteady 
steps as if in a blind effort to escape from 
this new knowledge that had found its 
way to his soul with such power of tor- 
ture. 

David Sheldon had never known, never 
even surmised before, this wretched story in 
which he had played so vile a part, but he 
did not for an instant question its truthful- 
ness. Miss Hannah herself would have pit- 
ied him could she have read his heart that 
morning and known its passionate remorse, 
its self-abasement and its wretchedness. He 
was sufficiently himself to realize what he 
could forget in his habitual stupefaction — the 
weight of affliction that had fallen on Susie’s 
young life in the loss of her sight. He un- 
derstood too — had bitter reason for knowing 
— how they must have planned, toiled and 
sacrificed to accumulate that sum — his pa- 
tient wife, the true, unselfish Nat, and proud. 


THE STINO OF THE ADDEB. 


179 


silent Louise — that they might give poor Su- 
sie another chance, the one only hope that 
remained, of ever beholding the world again 
or sharing its light and life. And he, her 
father, who should have been most earnest 
in the planning, most efficient in providing, 
had let them bear all the burden, never lift- 
ing a finger while the poor little sum had 
been so hardly hoarded ; and then he stole 
it all ! For what? Curses fierce and deep 
were breathed against the liquor-traffic in 
all its branches that day by the poor wretch 
as he wandered miserably about the streets. 

Burden and disgrace though he was to his 
family, though he drugged himself into in- 
difference to all that concerned them, David 
Sheldon was not so debased that he could 
knowingly have taken that money. 

‘‘ The maddest thirst that ever raged would 
not have tempted me if I had known,’’ he 
said. ‘‘If they had told me! — ” and then 
broke, off the sentence with a groan, know- 
ing well that they dared not tell him, that 
they could not trust him, nor could he 
trust himself. 

With that proof of what he had become 


180 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


his whole life revealed itself to him more 
distinctly than ever before — a blighted, 
blackened, hideous thing, his manhood an 
utter wreck. He walked far down upon one 
of the long stone piers running out into the 
river, and stood there for a few minutes 
watching the glitter and sparkle of the wa- 
ters, sorely tempted to plunge beneath them. 
If so, he could end it all. That if held 
him back — the thought of carrying into 
eternity, the changeless eternity, the weight 
of remorse which so tortured him here. 
Then Susie’s sightless eyes, her pale, sad 
face, rose before him again, and he turned 
sharply on his heel with another muttered 
word of self-contempt : 

“ Coward ! You might at least try to give 
back their stolen money before you sneak 
out of the world.” 

He would repair the loss ; Susie should 
have the money. That idea, once suggested, 
took possession of his brain and strength- 
ened into a fixed purpose, arousing him in a 
measure from the aimlessness of his gloomy 
introspection by the thought of some definite 
object to be accomplished. 


THE STING OF THE ADBEE. 


181 


‘‘She shall have the money again, poor 
Susie he repeated many times that morn- 
ing as, making his way back into the town, 
he inquired here and there for work, only to 
be repulsed. “ I’ll earn it somehow ; she 
shall have her chance.” 

But refusal followed refusal. People look- 
ed at him curiously, shrugged their shoul- 
ders, answered roughly or but half civilly, 
and turned away. Where he was known 
he could not expect employment — where he 
was not, his appearance testified against him. 
The latter fact forced itself upon his recog- 
nition at last. He looked down at his worn, 
soiled, dusty clothes, pulled off his battered 
hat and examined it, ran his fingers through 
his rough hair, to which some straws were 
still clinging from his late nap in a stable. 

“ Pretty hard up for help anybody must 
be that would want me, that’s sure,” he ac- 
knowledged, completing his survey. “Look 
like a vagabond — am one. Well, I won’t 
trouble any of them only just long enough 
to make that money somehow. It’s precious 
little I care what becomes of me after that. — 
Here, sir,” facing about suddenly as a stran- 


182 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


ger approached, do you know where I can 
get work ? Any one that wants a man 

“ A man the gentleman repeated, with 
an unconscious emphasis on the word. 

The applicant noticed it, and answered in 
his reckless self-mockery : 

“Not a whole one, of course. Oh no ! 
Half a man, say, or a quarter of one; I 
think that’s all there is left, scant measure.” 

The stranger looked at him with a min- 
gling of pity and wonder, an evident ques- 
tioning whether he were insane or simply 
desperate. “ I know of One who willingly 
receives such,” he said, “ who really wants 
them — the Lord Jesus Christ.” 

The shriek of a steam-whistle, the impor- 
tunate clanging of an engine-bell, sounded 
from a depot near, and at its impatient sum- 
mons the stranger hurried away without 
stopping for another word. David Sheldon 
looked after him for a moment. The reply 
seemed as singular to him as his remark had 
seemed to the other. 

“ If that were a fact instead of a bit of a 
sermon, it would be of no use to me,” he 
muttered. “The place is too far off.” 


THE STING OF THE ADDER. 


183 


He had made no resolution of reformation, 
of attempting to redeem his lost manhood. He 
did not think of that as possible, or think of 
it at all indeed, though he saw his degradation 
so clearly. He meant to restore to his blind 
girl her one chance for sight ; that was his 
only plan. He would earn enough for that 
some way, somewhere, however long it might 
take. But there another thought broke in 
at last. It might take too long — it might al- 
ready be too late to be of any use. Again 
he clenched his hands in impotent agony ; 
that doubt was unendurable. He turned 
from the course he was pursuing, and has- 
tened through one street after another until 
in an entirely different part of the city he 
found on a sign above an office-door the 
name he sought — Hr. Ainsley, the physician 
who had first examined Susie’s eyes. 

Fortunately, the medical gentleman was 
in his office and alone. He bent a grave, 
keen glance upon his visitor, a moment’s 
scrutiny, in which he satisfied himself that, 
whatever ailment afflicted this patient, the 
cause was perfectly patent. The eyes were 
scarcely wild enough for delirium tremens, 


184 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


however, and the man exhibited too much 
strength to have been seriously wounded 
in a brawl ; so the doctor motioned him to 
a seat and questioned : 

‘‘Well, sir?’’ 

But David Sheldon stopped near the door, 
his hand resting on the back of a chair. 

“ Do you remember going to see a young 
girl who had some trouble with her eyes ? — 
months ago? — down on Gregg street? — and 
you couldn’t do anything for her ?” he 
asked, adding question to question slowly, 
with pauses between, in which he watched 
the physician’s face to see if he recollected. 

“ Hum ! let me see. Yes — ah yes,” as the 
circumstance was recalled. “Well?” 

“ You said she would lose her sight.” 

“ Did she not ?” asked the doctor, profes- 
sional interest aroused at once. 

“Yes. You thought there was a chance 

of recovery if she could go to Dr. S in 

New York. Do you think so still ? Would 
the waiting so long make any difference ? — 
make the case less hopeful ?” 

“ No” — the deliberate monosyllable seemed 
to the impatient questioner long in coming — 


THE STING OF THE ADDER. 


185 


“no, that would not affect the case. Total 
loss of sight was inevitable; there was no 
possible hope of preventing it. The only 
hope was of restoring by an operation. A 
number of years might of course make a dif- 
ference in the probability of a cure, since the 
chances of success in such cases are much great- 
er for a young person ; but a few months more 
or less would not alter the matter materially.” 

The hands on the chair relaxed from the 
tightness of their clasp and trembled slightly 
as they were withdrawn. 

The doctor took another survey of his vis- 
itor, and stopped him as he reached the door : 

“ Since you have recalled the case to me, 
you must allow me again to recommend the 

course mentioned — sending her to Dr. S 

at the institute. I would lose no time unne- 
cessarily, either, for blindness is an affliction 
hard to endure, even for a few weeks. I do 
not say positively that sight can be restored, 
but there is so fair a hope that I do most 
strongly advise you to make the trial, even ” 
— with a minute’s hesitation — “ though it be 
at the cost of considerable sacrifice.” 

“Sacrifice!” David Sheldon’s eyes fol- 


186 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


lowed the doctor’s swift glance over his 
shabby, disarranged attire. Oh, I’m good 
at that ! Sacrificed all I possessed long ago 
for things that most men might think worth 
less than a daughter’s eyes, too,” he replied 
in the spirit of bitter mockery that possessed 
him that day and seemed to force an utter- 
ance involuntarily. Then he hurried out 
and closed the door against observation or 
answer. 

He had decided to go home and improve 
his toilet as far as lay in his power before 
he tried again for employment. Billy was 
at school, Nat at the factory, but his wife 
and daughters were in the little sitting-room, 
the mother and Louise busy as usual, and 
Susie with quiet hands folded in her lap. 
He noticed the latter’s quick turning as he 
entered, the slight bending of her head to 
listen and assure herself that she had caught 
aright the sound of his steps. He saw Lou- 
ise’s half-wondering look at his return at 
that unwonted hour, but no one spoke to 
him in either questioning or welcome, and 
without a word to them he passed through 
to the kitchen. He tried the refreshing ef- 


THE STING OF THE ADDER. 


187 


feet of soap and water, and essayed the use 
of a razor also, though the task was slowly 
performed with his hand unsteady from lack 
of his usual stimulant, which all that forenoon 
he had not sought. His wife and Louise, 
passing in and out of the room, watched 
with some surprise his careful brushing of 
his garments and efforts to remove all stains 
of mud from them. Whatever care his cloth- 
ing received was usually bestowed by other 
hands than his own. But they only won- 
dered silently, and made no remark upon 
his altered appearance when he was ready 
to go out again. A half wish that they 
would ask some question, express some in- 
terest in his movements, flitted through his 
mind, though he scarcely knew why he 
should care to have them or what he could 
answer. 

Going through the sitting-room again on 
his way to the street, he found Susie alone, 
and paused a moment irresolutely with his 
hand on the door, then turned back and 
stood by her chair. A little startled and 
uneasy at his presence she seemed, but he 
looked down at her wistfully : 


188 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


‘‘ Susie girl, is it so very hard now 

The unwonted tone reassured her : “ What, 
father ?” 

‘‘ About — the eyes ?” The words framed 
themselves with difficulty. 

‘‘They do not pain me. No, I do not 
suffer with them ; only the long, lonely 
darkness and the helplessness with a sigh, 
a slight motion of the idle hands. 

If he had meant to say anything more he 
could not do it then. There was a spasmodic 
twitching in the muscles of his throat as he 
stood for a moment longer looking at her; 
then he turned abruptly, and rushed out 
and away down the street. 

“ Poor little hands — Susie’s, that were 
always so quick and busy, helping all the 
rest !” he whispered with a choking, sobbing 
breath. “ I remember, when they were only 
baby-fingers, how swift and ready they were, 
clutching round mine. Soft little fingers ! I’d 
have knocked any one down then who had 
dared to tell me I’d ever leave them to work 
so. And now it’s worse than that even. 
If it were mine, that are of no use to any 
of them, laid aside so — ” He looked down 


THE STINQ OF THE ADDER. 


189 


at them — a man’s hands, large, shapely, 
strong too but for his own sin — hands de- 
signed to be the skillful servants of a clear 
and vigorous brain, to fill his home with 
comforts and make the world the better for 
their work. They had failed most misera- 
bly in their mission. 

Away through the busy streets of the old 
town and down to the river again he wan- 
dered, up and down among the wharves and 
boats, seeking work. He was not particular 
about the kind ; he made no mental stipula- 
tion even that it should be useful or honest. 
Something that would bring money enough 
to replace what he had stolen from Susie was 
his sole quest. But he found nothing. Far 
more promising and efficient applicants than 
himself were unsuccessful in those dull days 
of business stagnation, and his weary walk- 
ing up and down availed nothing. 

At length, late in the afternoon, he turned 
his steps toward the mountain-road. At the 
Mountaineers’ Best he was sure of finding 
numerous calls for his services, though they 
seldom received any payment but liquor. 
He craved that sorely now, and it was use- 


190 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


less, he thought, to pursue his search for 
employment much farther that day. But he 
would try again ; he would lose no chance of 
earning, and until Susie had her own no 
penny earned should be spent for drink — 
he could obtain that in other ways ; and he 
determined too not to become sufficiently 
under its influence to forget his purpose. 
So he planned and fortified himself as he 
slowly ascended, his eyes upon the ground, 
unobservant of anything around him on the 
familiar road, until he was startled by a sud- 
den fearful sound, as of a loud explosion, 
whose echoes reverberated along the moun- 
tains and died away in a long, heavy roll. 

A minute’s silence was broken by voices 
shouting to each other here and there and 
swelling gradually into a tumult ; and pres- 
ently one form after another appeared upon 
the road, hurrying down toward the town. 

“ What is it ?” David Sheldon asked, 
quickening his steps to meet the foremost. 

Explosion in the mine — an awful cave — 
dunno how many’s buried,” was the answer 
flung out breathlessly as the man sped on 
to bear his direful tidings to the town. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE EXPLOSION. 


BOY with face flushed from running 



^ made his way with heedless haste over 
the beds of crocuses in the side-yard at the 
Barclays’, and around to the basement-door, 
where Bridget, who profoundly disapproved 
of the whole race of boys, responded to his 
loud, quick summons. 

“ Is the boss home ?” he asked hurriedly. 

‘‘And is it the boss of the kitchen ye 
mane ?” demanded Bridget, drawing herself 
up to full height at the ofiensive word. 

“ No, at the mine — Mr. Barclay,” he ex- 
plained rapidly, too intent upon his errand 
to notice her manner. 

“ No, he’s not, thin ; and what should he 
be home for this hour of the day?” 

A query the boy did not stop to answer, 
nor indeed to hear ; he turned on his heel at 


191 


192 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


her first negative, and sped through the 
yard in the way he had come. 

Look at him now, Tapin’ over the flow- 
er-beds like he was an anacondy or some 
other wild baste !” exclaimed Bridget, some- 
what mixed in her natural history, but quite 
clear in her indignation. “ What sint him 
here wid foolish questions like that? It’s 
little Misther Barclay ’d be wantin’ of the 
likes of him.” 

But a few minutes later the inquiry was 
repeated, this time at the front of the house. 
Mrs. Barclay, who was passing through the 
hall, herself replied to the sudden sharp 
peal of the bell, and saw upon the steps a 
man whose face and dress both told of has- 
tily-deserted work among the coal : 

“ Is Mr. Barclay here, ma’am ?” 

‘‘ No ; he has not been home since morn- 
ing. You will probably And him at the 
mine.” 

The man shook his head. “ I’ve just 
come from there,” he said, pausing a mo- 
ment, as if uncertain where to go next. 

Mrs. Barclay’s eyes were clearer than 
Bridget’s; she noticed the suppressed ex- 


THE EXPLOSION. 


193 


citement, the quick breath as of one who 
had walked rapidly, and she questioned anx- 
iously : 

Is it anything important ? Is there any 
trouble ?” 

‘‘ It’s trouble, sure enough. There’s been 
a blow-up at the mine, and it’s caved in on a 
lot of ’em — nobody knows how many.” 

He shuddered, strong man though he was, 
as he told the story in a few brief, terrible 
sentences. 

Jessie, white and trembling, leaned back 
against the door. 

It’s awful, ma’am,” said the man, more 
gently, recognizing the kinship of their hu- 
manity in her pained, shocked face and 
quivering lips. ‘‘ It’s but just now happened, 
and the boss wasn’t there, so two or three of 
us started to hunt him.” 

^‘Perhaps he is at the upper shaft: he 
might have gone there,” answered Jessie, 
trying to think. 

“ Likely he did.” The messenger’s face 
brightened. “ I’ll look for him there if he 
ain’t at the office when I get back.” 

Jessie watched him as he rapidly strode 

13 


194 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


away. Probably Cade was already at the 
mine ; he would not have been long absent 
that day, she thought, knowing his anxiety 
in the morning, because the events of Satur- 
day — the arrest and Mr. Leavitt’s scattered 
money — would doubtless have filled Sunday 
with even more than the usual drunkenness 
and hot discussion, and so have left an un- 
promising force for Monday’s work. Had 
this fearful accident in any way resulted 
from yesterday’s excesses? she wondered. 
It might have been so. What tidings to 
greet her poor Cade ! And then her heart 
sank to a tender depth of pity at thought 
of the wives and mothers of the buried 
miners. Their lot had been so hard before ; 
how could they live and bear this? 

It was so horrible, that living burial ! 
Crushed, maimed, yet living some of them 
might be, suffering with all human help so 
far away, dying of suffocation or the slower 
torture of starvation before any aid could 
reach them. How could those who loved 
them endure the burden of all these possi- 
bilities while they waited in utter powerless- 
ness ? Who were they, these stricken ones ? 


THE EXPLOSION. 


195 


Which among the little homes that she knew 
had received the blow? How soon could 
they know who was missing, each heart 
counting its own beloved? 

Again and again Jessie’s vivid fancy 
painted the scene, while her heart bled for 
the grief of the cabin households in which 
she had grown so interested. She told the 
children of the occurrence, answering as best 
she could the stream of curious childish 
questions, while her eyes were constantly 
wandering away to the mountain, as if they 
could penetrate the distance and discover 
what was transpiring there. The time 
dragged slowly, but no further word came. 
By and by she went down to the piazza, to 
find the usually quiet street alive with many 
passers. The news had spread, and people 
were thronging to the scene of disaster — 
many going, but none coming, and she could 
gain no tidings, though she so longed to hear. 

If her husband would but come ! But 
he would be slow to leave the spot where, 
possibly, he might be needed ; he might not 
come at all that night. The silence and 
suspense grew intolerable. She could not 


196 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


bear to have the night close about her with 
no further tidings. If she could but see 
Cade for a moment and learn the whole 
story from him, she could be more content, 
she thought. Just to know what he was 
thinking, feeling, hoping, if indeed there 
were anything to hope — ^to have the assur- 
ance if there were anything or nothing that 
she could do ! 

The light of the sweet spring afternoon 
fell around her, warm and bright still, 
though the sun was dropping in the west. 
There would be two hours of daylight yet, 
and so many were going. She turned, with 
the vague wish and unrest growing suddenly 
to a resolution, dressed hastily for her walk, 
and with brief explanation and charge to 
Bridget and the children set forth at once. 

So peacefully fair the day was drawing to 
its close, such soft light on town and river, 
such fleecy clouds lingering upon the moun- 
tain-tops like white fingers of blessing, it was 
hard to realize that its hours held such weight 
of agony. 

Halfway up the winding ascent the rattle 
of carriage- wheels sounded on the road be- 


THE EXPLOSION. 


197 


hind her. Some one was driving rapidly, 
but the pace slackened as the vehicle near- 
ed her, and turning she saw Mr. Leavitt. 
He had recognized her, and stopped at her 
side. 

‘‘ Mrs. Barclay ! Are you going up to 
the mine?” a strange surprise, almost con- 
sternation, in his voice. 

‘‘Yes, for a little while.” 

“ You must ride then.” He sprang to the 
ground and assisted her into the carriage. 

“ It was so hard to wait at home, where I 
could hear nothing !” she explained. Hours 
drag so slowly in such times of suspense.” 

“ True ; it must seem intolerable,” he an- 
swered in a grave, pained tone, with an in- 
tense earnestness that in their brief meetings 
she had never before seen that usually cool, 
smiling, careless face wear. 

‘‘You had but just heard?” she asked 
presently. 

“ An hour or so since. I have been on 
the mountain before; I went back to town 
to deliver some orders.” 

“You have seen for yourself, then? I 
have heard nothing since the first meagre 


198 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


report was brought me. Is Mr. Barclay 
there 

‘‘ They — say so. I fear there is no good 
reason to doubt it.’’ 

A strange answer, given so slowly and 
hesitatingly. He had not understood her 
question, or was it possible this man could 
hold her husband in any way accountable 
for what had happened ? She scanned his 
face wonderingly, but his glance was for the 
moment steadfastly averted. 

After a brief silence he turned to her 
again : 

‘‘ Were you really going there quite 
alone ?” 

“Yes,” she replied, her wonder at the 
question showing in her eyes. “ I often go 
to the mine alone, the walk is a very fa- 
miliar one to me ; and to-day, with so 
many out, it surely could not seem lonely. 
I thought I could see Mr. Barclay for a few 
minutes, and have ample time to return be- 
fore dark.” 

“See him? Is it possible — Mrs. Bar- 
clay, has no one told you ? do you not 
know?” he stammered, the surprise in his 


THE EXPLOSION. 


199 


glance changing suddenly into a shocked, 
compassionate look as he turned it upon 
her. ‘‘ This is awful !” 

“What is it? what have I not heard?” 
she questioned sharply. “ Do not tell me 
that any ill has happened to him — my hus- 
band !” her voice rising to a bitter cry at 
the last word. 

It would have been hard for any one — it 
was certainly hard for Mr. Leavitt, who all 
his life had striven to avoid all painful things 
— to have this office thrust upon him, to watch 
the blue eyes grow dark with anguish while 
he told her the brief story so terrible in its 
truth. 

Mr. Barclay was in the mine at the time 
of the explosion. He had gone down but 
a few minutes before to give some matter 
there his personal oversight, though his do- 
ing so had not been generally noticed or 
known, and hence the first search for him 
immediately after the accident. But seve- 
ral who had been in the office and near the 
mouth of the shaft when he descended were 
positive in their testimony : the superintend- 
ent was among the buried ones. 


200 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Two words broke from the white lips, and 
then Jessie sank back among the carriage- 
cushions in utter silence. Ah the fearful 
difference between sympathy and sorrow ! 
the weeping for another’s woe and the tear- 
less anguish when the cold black waves 
sweep suddenly over one’s own life ! She 
knew it then. 

Mr. Leavitt had been driving slowly. At 
last he asked, that mysterious reverence which 
involuntarily we yield to a great sorrow touch- 
ing his tones with compassionate gentleness, 

“ Do you wish to go home ? Shall I turn 
and take you back to the city ?” 

“ No ; it does not matter,” she answered 
with an effort, her voice having a far-away, 
unnatural sound even to herself. It did not 
matter to her where she went then, unless 
perhaps the mountain-side might seem a lit- 
tle nearer to him, was the feeling — scarcely 
a thought — that influenced her. Her com- 
panion did not trouble her with further 
question or suggestion, but touched his 
horses and hastened their ascent. 

On the mountain all was activity. At 
first glance it seemed but a confusion of peo- 


THE EXPLOSION, 


201 


pie, ropes and cars, yet already organized 
work was pressing vigorously forward. A 
band of men were digging with all the speed 
that anxious hearts could lend to eager hands, 
and other bands stood ready to relieve them 
the moment their strength began to flag. 
Steady voices issued brief orders here and 
there, and questions and answers came in 
the sharp, concise tones of those with no 
time to waste in words. 

Farther away persons walked about exam- 
ining the traces of the accident and trying to 
estimate its extent, while others, gathered in 
groups, talked of its probable results and 
speculated concerning its cause. Of that 
last little was certainly known, and wild 
rumors and surmises passed from lip to lip. 
The powder used in blasting was usually 
purchased by the miners as they needed it 
from the company, whose place of storage 
was above-ground, safely apart from all other 
buildings, and who furnished it to the men in 
but small quantities. But, contrary to all 
usage and the most strenuous regulations, 
an entire keg of powder had that morning 
in some way been smuggled into the mines. 


202 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


No one admitted any knowledge of when 
or how it was done, but the fact that it was 
there was attested by several men. What 
had been the purpose in carrying it there 
was also a matter of doubt. Many believed 
it to have been in pursuance of some plot to 
damage the mine and injure the company ; 
but if this were so, the explosion had doubt- 
less taken place prematurely. 

All the information that could be gathered 
showed that the Mountaineers’ Rest had done 
a thriving business the day before — that a 
larger number than usual even had congre- 
gated there, talking and drinking; and the 
proprietor of that establishment reluctantly 
admitted — he was disposed to be cautious 
and reticent — that there had been a ‘‘ toP- 
able amount” of threats, complaints, denun- 
ciation and hard talk generally heaped upon 
the course of the company in general niid 
upon Mr. Leavitt in particular. “ But it 
didn’t mean nothing ; men’s apt to talk tliat 
way when they’re pretty mad about anything, 
and got a little liquor in ’em besides,” added 
the same authority. It also trans})ired that 
the Canadian, Pierre, and an Englishman 


THE EXPLOSION. 


203 


named Martin had been among the fiercest 
of the talkers; and later in the day some 
others had overheard Pierre persuading Mar- 
tin to buy of him a keg of powder that had 
come into his possession, assuring him that 
it would be much cheaper than obtaining it 
in small quantities from the company. 

Afterward the two men went out together, 
but no one had given much heed to the cir- 
cumstance or to their conversation, as the 
man Pierre was nearly always trying to 
drive a bargain with some one, and had a 
genius for getting possession of and trading 
off articles of every description. One of 
the men who had seen the keg in the mine 
that morning said that he supposed it to be 
Martin’s, remembering the incident of the 
day before. He had not reported it, lest he 
should get a comrade into trouble, he ex- 
plained. He thought no harm would come 
of it — that ‘‘Martin was a bit crusty from 
liquor” that morning, and he had intended 
to wait until he was thoroughly sober and 
then speak to him about it, and so get it out 
of the way without any trouble. Meanwhile 
the terrible explosion had occurred. 


204 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


That was all that could positively be as- 
certained. What further carelessness or 
accident had precipitated the catastrophe, 
what cause there might have been other 
than the drunkenness that had so evi- 
dently been a prime factor in the whole, 
could not now be known. Pierre had dis- 
appeared, and poor Martin was one of those 
buried under the mass of fallen rock. Seven 
there were in all. A slow counting it had 
been before the number was definitely set- 
tled. Others, in different parts of the mine, 
had escaped, but in the confusion, the hurry- 
ing to and fro and the anxious inquiries of 
friends it required time to determine who 
were missing. Every name was known now 
— common, familiar names, uttered carelessly 
every day, but suddenly set apart within the 
last hour and crowned with a fearful signif- 
icance. 

Jessie Barclay found her way — she did 
not consciously choose it, except that her 
steps seemed naturally to seek the accus- 
tomed direction — into the ofiice. Two or 
three persons near the door moved aside 
with quick compassionate glance that she 


THE EXPLOSION. 


205 


might pass, and she dropped into a chair 
by the desk — her husband’s desk. A pair 
of gloves lay there where their owner had 
tossed them aside. She slowly took them 
up and smoothed them out mechanically — 
the gloves that had waved her a cheery 
good-bye only that morning! A sheet of 
paper lay before her with a few lines writ- 
ten upon it — an unfinished business-letter, 
some statement of the working of the mine 
— a sentence broken where the pen had been 
hastily dropped : 

“ Next week I shall — ” 

So confidently we look to the weeks that 
are coming, and do not see the chasm yawn- 
ing at our very feet. Jessie’s eyes followed 
the words with strange fascination again 
and again, though they seemed to convey 
no meaning to her brain. Next week ! 
Would there ever be another — a week made 
up of sweet commonplace days? How far 
off was it ? Eternity seemed nearer. With 
cold, trembling fingers she folded the paper 
and held it clasped in her hand. 

After a time Mr. Leavitt sought her. 

“Do you wish to return now? Will you 


206 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


go home — to your children ?’’ he asked gen- 
tly, some blessed inspiration suggesting the 
last words. 

The mention of her children aroused her 
from the silent stupor of grief in which she 
had been sitting there so white, rigid and 
stunned. She looked up, bewildered at 
first ; then her eyes slowly filled with tears 
as the mother-heart awoke again through 
all the wife’s anguish, and she remembered 
the little hands still drawing her back to 
life and duty — her fatherless children, for 
whose sake she must endure and not die. 

My children ? yes, I must go to my chil- 
dren,” she said. 

Yet they were safe and well cared-for for 
the present, and it was hard to leave the 
mountain where she had the alleviation — 
not a small one in such time of awful sus- 
pense and waiting — of seeing something 
done, of assuring herself by actual sight 
that no precious moment was wasted. Mr. 
Leavitt had no deep knowledge of human 
nature, but even he gleaned a partial com- 
prehension of her feeling from her wistful 
backward glances as she walked to the car- 


THE EXPLOSION. 


207 


riage. Now that the tears raining over her 
face had broken the unusual calm, he felt 
less alarm for her, less nervous anxiety to 
have her safely at home again and himself 
relieved of responsibility. 

“If you wish to remain longer, I shall 
come again this evening, and if there were 
any one with you or any comfortable place 
to stay — ’’ he said hesitatingly. 

She caught the suggestion at once : 

“ Thank you. I could stay at any of these 
houses near — that one a little way up the 
road — and I need no one with me but the 
people there ; I know them quite well.” 

A singular acquaintanceship for Mrs. Bar- 
clay, the gentleman thought, but he did not 
know its beginning or its nature. Her ideas 
were somewhat like her husband^s perhaps, 
and Cade Barclay was radically democratic 
in some of his opinions, with utopian dispo- 
sition to view the human family as a family. 
Poor fellow ! Would to Heaven he might 
be living and rescued ! But there was 
scarcely a hope, Mr. Leavitt meditated as 
he accompanied his charge to the cabin des- 
ignated, and with considerate kindness made 


208 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


such arrangements as lay in his power for her 
comfort. 

As night settled down upon the mountain 
great fires were kindled here and there, and 
these, with the glow from the furnaces on 
the slope, lighted up the whole landscape 
with a strange, lurid glare. A weird scene 
it was — the gray, ragged rocks ; the great 
trees, here standing tall and straight like 
sentinels, there gnarled and bent ; the rude 
little cabins ; the heaps of earth and coal ; 
and the rough framework of timbers, while 
everywhere busy forms were moving, now 
showing clearly in the red light, now hidden 
in the deep shadows. 

In the cabin where Jessie was there gath- 
ered, as the evening passed, the wives and 
mothers of the buried miners, drawn there 
partly by the common sorrow that bound 
them together, partly by the fact that the 
doors and windows of the house commanded 
a clear view of the mine and the bauds of 
workers. Strangely the different tempera- 
ments revealed themselves in their mani- 
festations of grief. In one corner a woman 
swayed to and fro with groans, ejaculations 


THE EXPLOSION. 


209 


and cries. In another, one talked in broken 
voice to all who came near her of the good- 
ness of her lost Jamie — perhaps, alas ! she 
had never appreciated it until then — while 
between these two a heavy-eyed mother 
hushed her child to sleep with a low, wail- 
ing lullaby that sounded more like a dirge 
than a cradle-song. 

Acquaintances came and went, showing 
what kindness they could, offering consola- 
tion homely, and even rough sometimes, but 
sincere and heartfelt. Jessie scarcely no- 
ticed any of them as, from the window 
where she sat, she watched the workers. 

‘‘ Eh ? and who is that ?” asked one at 
last, recognizing even in the dim room, 
lighted only by the firelight from without, 
a something in Jessie’s form and dress that 
seemed to mark her as one not quite of 
themselves. 

‘‘ Hush ! an’ it’s Mrs. Barclay, poor dear !” 
answered the mistress of the house in a 
warning whisper that was yet distinctly 
audible. 

Ah well, poor lady ! and the trouble has 
come to her at last ! Belike she’s found for 


14 


210 


VAGABOND AND VICTOB. 


herself that the trust and comfortin’ that’s so 
easy to talk of when all’s well won’t keep a 
body’s heart from breakin’ when the hard 
things come to yourself — more’s the pity, 
the poor thing !” said a voice in curiously- 
blended compassion and triumph — a voice 
that Mrs. Barclay, with attention arrested by 
the mention of her own name, recognized as 
that of the neighbor who had been with lit- 
tle Jakey’s mother. The words startled 
her. 

Was it so, then, that her refuge of faith 
had failed her in this hour of trial — that 
her life’s hope held nothing now to stay her 
heart from breaking? Her eyes wandered 
away from the fires and the forms about 
them up to the clear starlit sky, there up- 
lifting a prayer, and swift and sweet came 
the answer of the Comforter : “ I will 

never leave thee nor forsake thee. For the 
mountains shall depart, and the hills be re- 
moved, but my kindness shall not depart, 
from thee, neither shall the covenant of my 
peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath 
mercy on thee. Now is Christ risen from 
the dead. Because I live, ye shall live also. 


THE EXPLOSION. 


211 


Which hope we have as an anchor of the 
soul, both sure and steadfast, and which en- 
tereth into that within the veil. For we 
know that if our earthly house of this tab- 
ernacle were dissolved, we have a building 
of God, an house not made with hands, eter- 
nal in the heavens.’’ 

The earth was reeling under her feet, but 
heaven and home lay beyond in undisturbed 
peace, a sure possession. From the fair bat- 
tlements of the “ city that hath foundations” 
the eyes she loved might even now be watch- 
ing her. Living or dying, he was the Lord’s, 
she was the Lord’s. They could not lose 
each other. Life at its hardest was short, 
and eternity long and blissful. So, slowly, 
her faith lifted its drooping head, and there 
swept over her spirit that mysterious sense 
of strength and exaltation that sometimes 
comes in moments of deepest trial to those 
who feel about them the everlasting arms. 

“ No,” she said in a clear, steady voice 
that thrilled through the room and hushed 
for a little both the wailing and talking, 
“even now I am not comfortless. Life is 
not all ; I know that I shall have my own 


212 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


again. Christ lives, and his word is sure. 
He has not left me comfortless.^’ 

Was she not written that night among the 
faithful witnesses ? 

Those around her did not wholly under- 
stand, yet they felt and remembered. An 
Irish matron in the doorway crossed her- 
self and muttered a brief invocation to 
saint and Virgin. Then the woman in 
the corner began her groaning lamentation 
again, and the talk went on. But by and 
by, when her child was sleeping, the sad- 
eyed mother crept to Jessie’s side and under 
cover of the murmur of voices whispered, 

‘‘ Would you mind say in’ a bit of a prayer 
for my poor boy, my baby’s father? ’Seems 
like I might bear it too if I knew — what you 
said.” 

The hours wore away; fires burned low 
and were replenished ; people came and 
went. Willing hands made coffee and 
spread lunches to refresh the men who were 
digging, and the band of workers changed 
constantly. As it grew later the throng 
about the mine thinned. Many went back 
to the city; the Mountaineers’ Best lured 


THE EXPLOSION. 


213 


not a few. Mr. Leavitt lingered long, part- 
ly for Mrs. Barclay’s sake, but at last he 
came for her. 

‘‘ Will you go now ? They will keep on 
digging steadily, and that is all that can be 
done. There can be no change, no tidings, 
for hours.” 

She arose quietly, though her step faltered 
as he led her to the carriage. Then they 
rolled away from the firelight down the 
darkening road to the town, whose streets 
were nearly deserted, passed homes whose 
closed doors and windows told of undis- 
turbed households and peaceful sleepers, 
and so reached her home. 

Bridget, with awestruck, commiserating 
face, admitted her mistress, and wheeling a 
chair to the fire insisted upon bringing the 
tea she had prepared : 

“ Take a little, ma’am ; sure, it’ll do you 
good.” 

Jessie looked up with a wan smile and 
tried to gratify her; then her eyes fell 
upon the empty chair on the other side of 
the hearth, and she put the cup down un- 
tasted. She looked in upon her boys for a 


214 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


moment as they slept, then sought little 
Blossom in her innocent slumber, and threw 
herself down beside her with clasped hands 
and wide-open eyes, to wait as she might for 
the morning. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE RESCUE. 

T he long night wore away, and the fires 
died down as the gray dawn gave place 
to the day — the clear, bright spring morn- 
ing, to which hearts turned in longing that 
its brightness and warmth might prove the 
night to have been but a terrible dream. 
With pitiless clearness its sunshine revealed 
the masses of earth and the tired, toiling 
men. 

Steadily all the night the work had gone 
on, and slackened not a moment for the 
dawning. There were men who had sons 
and brothers in that horrible pit, and these 
toiled as for more than life. There were 
friends, comrades, acquaintances, and out- 
side of this narrow circle the great human 
brotherhood that asserts itself strongly in 
times like this. There was no lack of will- 


215 


216 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


ing workers, and among the most indefati- 
gable was David Sheldon. Remorse as well 
as humanity had something to do with his 
earnestness, for he had some remembrance 
of the Sunday at the Mountaineers’ Rest, 
and of how, urged by others, he had made 
one of his bombastic speeches, full of sound 
and fury — empty words that meant nothing, 
were the expression of nothing but a brain 
dazed by liquor — words that he could not 
clearly recall, and of whose tenor he was 
only sure now by recollecting the mood of 
the crowd that had been around him, and 
their applause. Yet he had helped to fan 
the flame of passion and urge on the excess 
that had somehow — by accident or worse — 
resulted in this. 

No pen can picture in detail the scenes of 
that day. In prominent places in the town 
bulletin-boards were hung out giving infor- 
mation from hour to hour of the progress of 
the work, and about these a group was con- 
stantly gathered. Others thronged up to 
the mountain to see for themselves or to of- 
fer assistance. 

Early that morning, as soon as she learned 


THE RESCUE. 


217 


what had happened — and she was not long 
in hearing any news afloat — Tony appeared 
upon the scene. It was somewhere to go, 
something to watch, and so a great attrac- 
tion for her ; and all the day she lingered, 
exploring every conceivable place, dodging 
into and out of the way, worming herself 
through the crowd, pressing in among the 
ranks of workers, staring with unembarrass- 
ed eyes in at the doors and windows of the 
cabins, and perching with perfect coolness 
upon cars or doorsteps. Her ragged dress 
fluttered everywhere, and she contrived to 
see and hear all that was said and done. 
Gathering her information by piecemeal, she 
put it together in her busy brain, and soon 
settled her own theory of the disaster — one 
that she could not resist the temptation of 
uttering when she found herself near her 
old enemy, the “ Eest,” and saw its throng 
of customers. 

“ This man’s whisky, rum and wine 
Buried the poor folks down in the mine. 

He sold them all his dreadful stuff, 

Till they didn’t know when they had powder enough. 
They’re killed and dead, and he don’t care, 

’Cause he can get customers anywhere,” 


218 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


piped the clear, shrill voice in the very door- 
way of the bar-room, every word making 
itself distinctly heard. It was wretched 
rhyming, but awful truth ; and it is prob- 
able this latter fact had more influence than 
the former in arousing the rage that sent the 
barkeeper flying to the door, though he only 
muttered something about “impudent dog- 
gerel.’’ 

But Tony’s quick feet had sped away, and 
only her provoking laugh and the flutter of 
her dress answered him as she hid herself 
among the crowd farther down the road. A 
laugh from a number of those within greet- 
ed his return, though there were some who 
viewed the incident as scarcely food for 
merriment. 

“ Bather rough on you, Joe ! Afraid that 
sort of concert will spoil your trade ?” asked 
one carelessly. 

But another near him put down a glass 
untasted, hesitated a moment, then turned 
and walked away. 

Hour after hour — counted so by those not 
vitally interested, but seeming ages to others 
— the excavation went forward. At last, as 


THE RESCUE. 


219 


the night drew on again, a faint answering 
sound was heard from beyond the opposing 
wall. 

“ Hear that ! Do you hear it cried the 
one who first caught the faint, distant rap- 
ping. 

“ What ?” a dozen eager voices answered. 

‘‘That noise of some one rapping away 
beyond us. Listen 

Needless injunction ! Every ear was 
strained to catch the slightest sound, though 
some hearts beat so wildly that their own 
throbbing drowned all else. At first noth- 
ing could be heard, but the one who had 
called attention to the sound clung positively 
to his assertion, and, after a time, in answer 
to their repeated blows upon the rock, there 
came a faint, far-away tapping. 

“ They^re alive ! they’re alive !” shouted an 
excited voice, but another, a man with white 
face and with perspiration standing in great 
beads on his forehead checked him sternly : 

“ Hush, man ! Mayhap it’s failin’ water 
or some’at. Don’t make what ye’ll break; 
it’s hard enough now.” 

“ He’s right,” interposed clearer, steadier 


220 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


tones. ‘‘ Best not raise hopes to disappoint 
them ; it’s all too uncertain yet. — Work on 
as for life, boys.” 

But who can chain a rumor? The very 
wind that swept through the mountain-trees 
seemed to carry the vague tidings. In half 
an hour the story, enlarged and embellished, 
had reached the town, and additional throngs 
of people came hurrying up to the scene of 
interest, late though the hour was. 

Bridget’s next-door neighbor had a friend 
who had a fondness for spending his even- 
ings with her on the back piazza — ‘‘ one of 
me cousins,” she conveniently called him. 
This mythical relation brought her the news 
from the mine, and the kind-hearted girl im- 
mediately flew over to acquaint Bridget, who 
in turn rushed up to her mistress : 

‘‘Oh, ma’am, they do say they’re all of 
’em livin’, an’ talkin’ wid the men outside, 
sure enough !” 

It was mistaken kindness. Jessie sprang 
up, every nerve quivering with intense ex- 
citement, but before she had time to decide 
upon any movement Mr. Leavitt called. He 
had heard what rumors were afloat in the town, 


THE RESCUE. 


221 


and fearing they might reach her had come to 
forestall them, if possible, by bringing her the 
truth. Meagre and dark enough it seemed 
after that one wild flash of hope, yet it 
was something, a slight rift in the cloud 
of despair. 

‘‘ Be sure you shall not be left uninformed, 
Mrs. Barclay. If there is anything new, if 
anything happens, you shall know it at once. 
I will send you word by the fleetest messen- 
ger I can And,” he answered to the sad, wist- 
ful eyes that searched his so hungrily, as if 
for some intelligence or augury he could not 
give. 

“I could gain nothing by going there 
she asked. ‘‘ I am strong enough, I think.” 

She did not look so, and he knew the vague 
wild stories circulating here and there through 
the throng would be hard to bear — a fearful 
strain upon nerve and brain, as the faces of 
some of the women crowding about the shaft 
seemed to prove. 

‘‘Nothing now,” he answered, earnestly re- 
iterating his assurance of the earliest possible 
tidings ; and again she was left to endure the 
silent waiting. 


222 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Hours elapsed before there was any def- 
inite information to send. The aspect of 
affairs changed slowly. The faint knocking 
sound in reply to the workmen now made it- 
self heard for a few minutes, now ceased for 
a long interval. Some affirmed it to be only 
an echo arising from some peculiar stroke 
upon the rock ; others were sure that it pro- 
ceeded from the imprisoned miners, and was 
a token that they heard and knew that help 
was approaching. 

At length, after a heavy mass of rock that 
barred the way had been removed, the sound 
grew clearer, and distinct answering raps were 
heard. Later still, when a deep crevice ap- 
peared in the wall at which they were work- 
ing, some one with lips close to the opening 
shouted aloud, and a feeble, distant voice re- 
plied, though no words could be distinguished. 
They knew then that there was life to be 
saved, but the work grew more delicate and 
difficult — more perilous too to those engaged 
in it — as the opposing barrier grew thinner, 
and they were obliged to proceed more slowly 
and cautiously. 

It was a moment of thrilling, intense ex- 


THE RESCUE. 


223 


citement when the first intelligible commu- 
nication was exchanged. 

‘‘ How — many — are — you ?” was slowly 
questioned. 

Four/’ came the answer, twice repeated, 
unmistakable. 

A blank look, then dismay and pain, passed 
in swift changes over the faces of the circle 
that first caught the words as they glanced 
at each other. Only four, and seven were 
missing ! Keluctantly the answer was trans- 
mitted to the anxious crowd beyond. 

An instant’s silence fell, and then a hoarse, 
unsteady voice demanded, 

“ Who ? Call for the names.” 

Slowly they were received and repeated 
amid a breathless, terrible hush, every ear 
bent to catch the syllables. Then the mur- 
mured ‘‘Thank God !” that arose on one hand 
was suddenly drowned by the bitter, hopeless 
cry that swelled over against it. But at mid- 
night a messenger brought Jessie Barclay 
word that her husband lived. 

In the gray dawn at last the prison was 
opened. The three unanswering ones had 
been found first — buried under the weight 


224 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


of debris, too far away for human voices ever 
to reach them more. The crushed, lifeless 
forms were pityingly covered from all curi- 
ous eyes and tenderly borne to the little 
cabin-homes that claimed them. Then, as 
the first beams of the morning sun gladdened 
the earth, the other four, assisted by strong 
and willing arms, emerged into the light, 
weak, haggard, two of them wounded, but 
saved. 

Mr. Leavitt^s carriage bore Cade Barclay 
home. A falling stone had struck his shoul- 
der and arm, and neglect, the dampness of 
the mine and mental excitement had greatly 
intensified the injury; but the painful, help- 
less limb was forgotten as his eyes slowly 
drank in the beauty of earth and sky, from 
which he had thought them shut away for 
ever, and wandered back to his wife^s face, 
resting there in supreme content. 

Nothing new concerning the cause of the 
accident could be learned from the rescued 
ones. Poor Martin, who alone might have 
explained, was one of those killed by the 
falling rock, and for whatever of dark pur- 
pose or criminal carelessness he had been re- 


THE RESCUE. 


225 


sponsible be had paid the penalty of his life 
and passed beyond man’s tribunal. So sur- 
mise and conjecture slowly died away. The 
sympathy of various societies, the city coun- 
cil and of private individuals flowed out for 
a little while toward those stricken mountain- 
homes, providing them with many comforts 
and relieving them of all expense attendant 
upon the interment of their dead. 

There was a solemn, imposing funeral, in 
which, with more of pomp and ceremony 
than all their lives had known, the three 
miners were borne to their quiet resting- 
place, where all day long the trees of the 
old cemetery would wave sunshine and 
shadow over their graves. Then the city 
swept back again into its accustomed chan- 
nel, the busy, hurried life from which it had 
partially turned aside for a little, and to the 
public the disaster at the mine was soon only 
a thing of the past, a bit of local history. 

On the mountain the event could not so 
soon be effaced or forgotten. Nay, no such 
wave can sweep over human lives without 
leaving traces somewhere that must last for 
ever. Jessie Barclay, though it was hard 

15 


226 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


in those first days to leave the dear task of 
nursing her patient, whose injured arm con- 
fined him to the house for a time, yet slipped 
away often for an hour or two to the cabins 
on Coal Ridge. Her own happiness was al- 
most a weight upon her tender heart when 
she contrasted it with the darkness that 
had fallen elsewhere, and she could not rest 
content without doing all in her power to 
aid and comfort the sufferers. Yet there 
were some other rejoicing ones. The sad- 
eyed young mother who had crept to her 
side on that terrible night followed her to 
the door when she made her first visit there, 
and closing it behind them, that she might 
not be overheard, said timidly, but with glad 
tears in her eyes, 

I told my Will about it — what you said 
that night — and he says he’d not be to say 
’twasn’t the prayers as saved ’em. And he 
says — ^he never did drink much, ma’am, only 
a bit now and then — but he says he’s seen 
enough of what it’ll do, and he’s done with 
it.” 

David Sheldon, after the excitement which 
had for a time turned aside his thoughts from 


THE RESCUE. 


227 


his new purpose was over, returned to it again. 
He visited the Mountaineers^ Rest, and per- 
formed in the old way the services asked of 
him when there, accepting eagerly too the 
liquor offered in return ; but he did not lin- 
ger talking and drinking for hours, as he had 
been wont to do. He spent more time wan- 
dering through the city, up and down its 
streets, in vain search for something that 
he could do. 

“ Susie must have the money,” he repeated 
to himself through many a weary tramp ; but 
he grew discouraged as the days passed and 
there appeared no chance by which he could 
hope to free himself from the thought that 
so haunted him. One day, pursuing his 
search along the wharves, a dingy, forlorn 
little boat with a rough crew and a villain- 
ous bar on board offered him a place for a 
trip down the river. He could earn little 
beyond his board, he knew, and that would 
doubtless be poor enough, with liquor con- 
sidered a chief article of diet. But at least 
he should not be a burden upon his family 
while absent, and in some other town he 
might find the employment he could not 


228 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


obtain where he was; he knew of nothing 
better to do, and so, after standing for a 
moment looking into the muddy water wash- 
ing against the side of the boat, he accepted 
the offer. 

‘^Well, are you all ready to go? We’ll 
be off in a couple of hours,” said the red- 
faced captain. 

‘‘ I’ll be here in time : I must go home 
first,” he answered. 

The captain accepted the latter statement 
as reasonable enough, but David Sheldon 
himself questioned it as he made his way 
across the plank and over the wet stones on 
the shore. Why did he go home ? why 
take the trouble to tell them? Was there 
any one to care whither he went, or how ? 
They were accustomed to his absenting him- 
self for days, and who would notice, except 
as a relief, if the absence were prolonged? 
And for preparation — he had nothing to 
settle, no arrangements to make. That de- 
cayed old log floating down the river was 
not more worthlessly free than he. Yet 
even while he meditated he walked stead- 
ily homeward. 


THE RESCUE. 


229 


“Mary,” he said, stopping in the little 
sitting-room near the window where his 
wife sat sewing, “is there any old carpet- 
bag or portmanteau in the house — one that 
I could pack a few things in?” 

She drew a few swift stitches and clipped 
her thread before she answered : 

“There may be. We had one years ago, 
and I don^t know what became of it. Per- 
haps you can find it somewhere in the attic 
now if you look, but it can’t be good for 
much.” 

He made the search as she suggested, and 
found the object he sought — “not good for 
much,” certainly; no article of value was 
stored away in that attic — but such as it 
was, he brushed the dust from it and car- 
ried it down stairs. 

“Mary,” he said again, hesitatingly, “if 
you’d put in a few things for me — my clothes, 
if I have any. I’m going away.” 

Louise looked up, a little gleam of interest 
in her glance — not regret, assuredly. The 
wife laid aside her work with a sigh ; she 
was in haste to finish the garment, for the 
making of which payment was so needed. 


230 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


‘‘I’m going on a boat down the river.” 

She did not ask for what purpose, where 
or for how long. The questions came into 
her thought, but a quick reflection checked 
their utterance. He could have no business 
or object beyond accompanying some drink- 
ing-companions who might have asked him, 
and obtaining the liquor which was all that 
he cared for. She could gain nothing but 
unhappiness by inquiring into details, if in- 
deed he would explain them ; which was 
doubtful. So she hurriedly folded the few 
shabby garments he possessed, a task soon 
accomplished, and then returned to her 
sewing. 

He fumbled nervously over the fastenings 
of the traveling-bag, locked and unlocked 
it, disposed of the key with unnecessary 
care and deliberation, lingered under pre- 
tence of tightening and mending a strap; 
but no one seemed to notice. His wife 
went on with her stitching and Louise with 
her cutting and pasting. At last he glanced 
at the clock ; he could stay no longer. He 
went over to Susie’s chair and looked down 
at her for a minute — just touched her bright 


THE RESCUE. 


231 


hair once with a hesitating touch, as if he had 
scarcely the right. 

“ Susie, V\\ bring you something when I 
come back,’’ he said. 

‘‘Yes, father,” she answered gently, but 
rather wearily, with neither pleasure nor 
expectation in her tone. He had a fashion 
of indulging in wild plans and making 
grand promises when he had been drink- 
ing, and, though his voice and manner 
scarcely betrayed intoxication, she did not 
think of attributing his words to anything 
else. 

He walked to the door, opened it and 
passed out, closing it very slowly, that any 
word might reach him. But none came ; the 
catch gave its sharp final click, his hand 
dropped from the knob, and he stood on 
the steps ready for his journey. What was 
it he missed or had waited for ? He could 
not readily have answered as he grasped the 
gaunt, starved traveling-bag and turned away. 

After all, the boat was delayed and did 
not sail until the next day, and that even- 
ing he wandered up town again, passed the 
house once or twice and looked in through 


232 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


the lighted windows. They were all there 
— Nat and Billy at home — a not uncheer- 
fiil group, despite poverty and hard work. 
Would they think to tell Nat that his 
father had gone? and what would the boy 
say ? The homely little room had a bright 
look ; he had not noticed it many an even- 
ing when he might have stayed there ; he 
thought it strange that it looked so now. 
He wondered what they were talking of. 
But he did not go in ; it would be no pleas- 
ant surprise, he knew. Would it make any 
difference in their thoughts if they knew 
why he was going ? — for Susie’s sake ? But 
then it was only to try and make right what 
he himself had made wrong — to restore what 
was hers long ago but for him. 

Then Louise dropped the curtain over the 
window and shut out the picture, arousing 
him from his gazing. He was not wanted 
there, certainly. But as he walked back to 
the boat there swept over his memory, 
strangely enough, the words of the gentle- 
man he had met on the street: 

“ I know of but One who willingly receives 
such — the Lord Jesus Christ.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 

A fter the accident at the mine the Ca- 
nadian, Pierre, did not reappear. Day 
after day passed, and Tony accepted his ab- 
sence with satisfaction as long as her store of 
provisions lasted ; and even when they failed 
she contrived to pick up a scanty subsistence, 
and preserved her equanimity without any 
particular desire for his return, going and 
coming as she pleased, and enjoying the 
peaceful possession of her domain. But as 
the days lengthened into weeks an idea 
penetrated Mistress Flaherty’s obtuse brain. 

‘‘Here, you!” she called out from her open 
door one day as Tony ran down the rickety 
stairs and through the narrow passage-way : 
“what’s gone wid yer father?” 

“ Knocks, swears, smoke and whisky. Was 
you wanting any of ’em. Mis’ Flaherty ?” asked 

233 


234 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Tony, prudently placing herself at a safe dis- 
tance before she answered. 

Mrs. Flaherty replied by a stream of un- 
complimentary epithets, between which she 
sandwiched the information that it was the 
rent she wanted. 

‘‘And when’ll he be cornin’ home?” she 
demanded. 

“Sorry I can’t tell you. Mis’ Flaherty,” 
said Tony provokingly. “ Hain’t had any 
telegraph from him yet. When I do I’ll 
let you know.” 

“ An’ I’ll be lettin’ him know he* can’t 
have me best room widout pay to kape the 
likes o’ you in, while he tramps round the 
country no betther than a beggar and a 
thafe,” declared the landlady angrily. 

“ And who said he was better than your- 
self, Mis’ Flaherty ?” retorted Tony saucily. 
Then, as she saw the enraged woman reach 
for her cane, she hastily retreated. 

But despite her cool, provoking replies 
and the tantalizing manner that so aroused 
Mrs. Flaherty’s ire, Tony pondered the con- 
versation with some uneasiness. In deciding 
that she preferred scant fare and living alone 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


235 


to her father’s presence she had quite forgot- 
ten the important item of a room to live in. 
He had always contrived to pay for it, but 
he had never been away so long before. 
Tony began to grow a little anxious about 
his return. 

Mrs. Flaherty had no intention of incur- 
ring any loss through her tenants, and in 
two or three days she opened the subject 
again. Tony, somewhat sobered, acknow- 
ledged then that she really had no infor- 
mation to give. Her father had told her 
nothing. She had only come home one 
evening to find him gone, she did not 
know where or why or for how long. 

“ It’s like he’s glad to be well rid of ye, 
an’ he’ll niver come back. Good enough 
for ye, thin, and bad luck to him !” said 
Mrs. Flaherty vehemently — ‘‘ ch’atin’ me 
out of the rint of me room !” 

“Maybe he’ll come back pretty soon,” 
suggested Tony with an entirely new de- 
sire to pacify Mrs. Flaherty. 

“ Maybe he won’t, thin ; an’ it’s meself as 
won’t be desaved wid yer maybes. I’ll wait 
the month out, an’ not a day longer. If he’s 


236 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


not here I’ll have me room, an’ glad I’ll be 
to see ye lave, ye botherin’ — ” 

Tony did not linger for the adjectives. 
She had heard all of the address in which 
she felt particularly interested, and she did 
not in the least doubt that Mrs. Flaherty 
would carry out her avowed intentions. In 
truth, the few days of grace allowed were not 
from any love to Tony, but because the mis- 
tress of the tenement bethought her that if 
Pierre did not return she could make good 
the arrears of rent by seizing the furniture. 

Of his reappearance Tony soon grew hope- 
less. She strongly suspected that Mrs. Fla- 
herty’s declaration that he was glad to be well 
rid of her might be a correct version of the 
matter. He had never manifested any affec- 
tion for her, and she felt none for him. On 
the whole, reviewing the case, she rather won- 
dered that he had made any pretence of pro- 
viding for her so long, and found it very easy 
to believe that he would not return on her 
account if he had any desire to remain else- 
where. Their mutual relations did not dis- 
turb her, however, except in so far as they 
disturbed her relations with Mrs. Flaherty’s 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


237 


upper room, the only home she knew. She 
might pick up something to eat in her stroll- 
ing through the day, but where could she go 
at night ? 

She was wise enough in city ways to have 
some knowledge of police regulations, the 
station-house and the usual disposition of 
homeless waifs ; and her whole soul rebelled 
against the ‘‘ work’us,’’ which Mrs. Flaherty 
tauntingly declared a fitting place for her, 
and one where they would ‘‘ tache her some 
manners.” Soberly Tony pondered the sub- 
ject. It was a novel experience for her to 
have any weight of care, and as the days 
passed she found herself looking anxiously 
at the windows when she returned at night 
to see if any light gleamed there, and lis- 
tening almost eagerly to every step on the 
creaking stair, even though she no longer 
expected her father’s return. 

The month had nearly expired, and the 
girl’s face was losing some of its saucy care- 
lessness. She avoided all encounter with 
Mrs. Flaherty, and though she occasionally 
sang before a saloon-door, even that occupa- 
tion had lost its zest. 


238 


VAGABOND AND VICTOB. 


‘^Don^t know what Til do,” she confided 
to herself one afternoon. Wonder if — ” 

It was the old thought, that had never 
quite left her since the evening she learned 
the verse on Billy’s card. She knew a little 
about prayer now from her visits to the Sun- 
day-school, though nothing else had so im- 
pressed her as that one verse. 

“ I s’pose ’twouldn’t be no harm to ask, if 
I ain’t a meeting?” she said, twisting her 
fingers hesitatingly. Suddenly she clasped 
them and whispered : 

Lord, I’m poor and needy. Please, if 
you have been thinking up anything good 
for me, give it to me now, ’cause I can’t stay 
here.” 

Billy’s card turned her thoughts presently 
in the direction of Billy’s self, and she went 
out to the street again and sauntered slowly 
along the various turnings that led to his 
home. She had no conscious purpose in 
seeking him, but she was lonely and trou- 
bled, and longed to talk with some one. It 
was near twilight, and Billy was occupying 
his favorite seat at that hour — the doorstep. 
He had a fancy for sitting there to watch 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


239 


the street-lamps lighted and dream out his 
childish dreams. 

“ Hello, Tony !” he greeted her in boy- 
fashion as she sat down on the steps beside 
him, and then proceeded to give her the 
benefit of his meditation : ‘‘ Say, do you see 
that one star up there ? That’s the first one. 
I don’t know what it comes out so early for, 
before it’s dark, but it does every night. 
By and by there’ll be ever so many. Now, 
I’m thinking if they were all dollars, and I 
could pick up first this one and then another 
and another as fast as they came out, what 
I’d do with all the money.” 

Tony looked up at the one star silently. 
Her fancy was not sufficiently free to enjoy 
such speculation. 

“ What would you, Tony ?” 

‘‘I don’t know. Pay Peg Flaherty her 
rent, I s’pose,” said Tony moodily. 

Ho !” said Billy, looking around in sur- 
prise at such a tame and inglorious ambition, 
“ what would you do that for ?” 

“ ’Cause I wouldn’t know what else to do, 
and I must have some place,” said Tony. 

“ Why ?” asked Billy not very relevantly. 


240 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


But Tony did not stop to criticise; she 
was quite ready to pour out the whole story, 
though, after all, she made it a brief one : 

“ My father’s gone off somewhere, and he 
don’t come back. Peg Flaherty says she 
don’t believe he ever will, and I don’t either. 
I don’t care for that, but she’s going to take 
the room, ’cause I can’t pay any rent.” 

‘‘ What’ll you do then ?” asked Billy, 
deeply interested. 

‘‘ Don’t know,” said Tony soberly. 

Billy looked at her gravely. His father 
had gone away too — a fact that did not trou- 
ble him deeply, but he suddenly reflected 
that if his going had taken the home away 
also, it would have been a vastly different 
matter. 

‘^Why, where’s your folks?” he asked, 
trying to understand the case. 

Got none — only him,” answered Tony. 

“ I wish you could come and live at our 
house. I wish we had a great big house 
and — and everything, so you could,” said 
Billy pityingly. Poor child ! he knew 
that ‘‘everything” was an insurmountable 
obstacle, and he paused for a moment. “ We 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


241 


don’t have much at our house, Tony, and I 
don’t b’lieve ’twould be a bit of use to ask 
mother; she’d just look sorry, but she 
couldn’t do it. I wish I did have some of 
the stars for money, and I’d build you a 
real nice house where they couldn’t turn 
you out.” 

“Wish you had,” said Tony, interested 
for the moment in that sort of castle-build- 
ing. “ My ! wouldn’t I like that ! It would 
be better’n Peg Flaherty’s, ’cause I’d have a 
nice room like that store- woman’s, with car- 
pet and a clock. I’d like to sleep there.” 

“ Oh, Tony,” exclaimed Billy, brightening 
with a sudden thought, “ why can’t you stay 
over there? They’ve got lots of room — I 
mean for two folks ; and anyhow you could 
sleep in the store — have a bed right under 
the counter, and it wouldn’t hurt anything 
one bit. I’m ’most sure Miss Hannah’d let 
you.” 

Tony’s eyes sparkled, then clouded : 

“Maybe she’d want rent, like Peg Fla- 
herty.” 

“ I don’t b’lieve she would. You see, she 
has to keep a store there anyway, and you 
16 


242 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


wouldn’t take up much room,” urged Billy, 
quite in love with the project. 

‘‘And I’d sweep out the room for her 
mornings if she’d let me,” said Tony. 

That suggestion settled the matter in 
Billy’s mind. The arrangement would cer- 
tainly be a great benefit to Miss Hannah as 
well as to Tony. 

“ Let’s go right over and ask her about 
it,” he said ; and, full of enthusiasm, he led 
the way. 

Miss Hannah’s keen eyes greeted them 
over the counter, and Tony, dropping back 
a little, left Billy to introduce the subject, 
which he did without hesitation : 

“ Miss Hannah, this is Tony, you know. 
Well, her father’s gone off somewhere, and 
won’t ever come back, and the Flarry woman 
says she can’t stay there any more. So we 
came over here to see if she couldn’t stay at 
your house ?” 

“ Sakes alive, child !” said Miss Hannah, 
looking in perplexity from one small face to 
the other, “ I don’t keep boarders, and if I 
did—” 

She paused, without expressing her opinion 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


243 


of Tony’s unprofitableness in that character, 
and Billy explained at once : 

Oh, she don’t want to board. She’ll get 
something to eat somewhere else — can’t you, 
Tony ? She says she can pick that up ’most 
anywhere, and I’ll give her part of my sup- 
per sometimes. She only wants to stay here 
o’ nights, and she’d just as lief have a bed 
right under the counter. It won’t be a bit 
of trouble. Miss Hannah.” 

‘‘ Dear me ! What in the world put such 
a notion in your heads ?” asked Miss Han- 
nah, looking first over her spectacles and 
then under them. ‘‘ Picking up a living 
in the streets and sleeping under my coun- 
ter o’ nights ! Why, I couldn’t stand such 
vagabond doings. — You can’t live that w^ay. 
If your father’s gone, is there nobody else 
to do anything for you?” 

Tony shook her head rather dejectedly ; 
her hope of a lodging at Miss Hannah’s 
had vanished. 

“Nobody to take any sort of care of 
you ?” 

“ No ; not ’less it’s Him ” — Tony hesitat- 
ed — “what Billy’s card said.” 


244 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


“She means ray Sunday-school card/’ in- 
terposed Billy — “ one I got a good while ago 
— about ‘ I am poor and needy, yet the Lord 
thinketh upon me.’ ” 

“ Yes,” said Tony. “ I thought maybe it 
meant me — Billy said it did — and I knew 
that if he had thought anything for me I’d 
get a place somewhere ; but if I have to go 
to the work’us, then I’ll know he hain’t, 
’cause them that goes there’s only folks no- 
body thinks of.” 

Miss Hannah looked at the child a min- 
ute. Then she took off her spectacles and 
polished them with great care, picked up 
and put down some skeins of silk, and 
finally observed, “ Well !” her lips closing 
tightly after the word, as if quite sure she 
had nothing more to say. Tony turned 
slowly toward the door, and Billy, utterly 
disappointed and discomfited, was about 
to follow her, when Miss Hannah spoke 
again : 

“ Don’t fiy off, child. It’s not likely I’m 
a heathen. If your father don’t come back 
you can come here and — stay for a while, 
anyhow, till we see. I’ll speak to Buey.” 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


245 


‘‘Oh, thank you, Miss Hannah cried 
Billy joyfully. “And she can sweep for 
you mornings, and she won’t take much 
room. I’m ’most sure you’ll let her stay all 
the time.” 

“ You think so, do you ?” said Miss Han- 
nah, rather grimly. “ Well !” 

The children departed, Tony relieved and 
Billy jubilant, and Miss Hannah reported to 
Miss Buey over their tea the petition and 
her reply. 

“ Of course,” said that tender heart. “ To 
be sure we’ll give her shelter, Hannah, and 
be thankful we have it to give. Poor for- 
lorn child ! we must try to think out some 
plan for her.” 

All that evening Miss Hannah was un- 
usually silent. She sewed with persevering 
rapidity and drew her thread with a vigor- 
ous twitch, while there was an odd com- 
pressed look about her mouth that seemed to 
say her thoughts were on other things than 
her work. 

“There! I’ve taken particular pains to 
sew that breadth on wrong side up!” she 
remarked at last, shaking out the garment 


246 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


with a snap and folding it up. “ Now ] 
think I’ll go to bed.” 

But the next morning her face had settled 
into a look of fixed determination. 

‘‘ Well, I’ve done it,” she said. 

“ Done what ?” asked Miss Buey. 

‘‘ I’ve wrastled and wrastled, and it seem- 
ed as if I never could get resigned, but I’ve 
done it.” 

“ Designed to what?” questioned Miss 
Buey again, interested but unenlightened. 

“To taking that child Tony. The boy 
was about right when he said if she come 
she’d stay — it don’t take much of an eye 
to see that — so I knew I might as well make 
up my mind to years and years of it,” an- 
swered Miss Hannah with stern triumph in 
her tone. “ Says I to myself, ‘ If she comes 
there’ll be harum-scarum ways, and more 
oranges stolen, like as not, before you can 
teach her the rights and wrongs of things ; 
there’ll be torn dresses and tracked-np fioors, 
and a pack of children coming to see her. 
Maybe she’s never had the measles, mumps 
or whooping-cough — I don’t suppose the lit- 
tle heathen’s had any sort of bringing up — 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


247 


and youdl have to nurse her through all of 
’em. And then if she lives and grows up 
to be of any use — and that’s doubtful, dear 
knows — who can tell but she’ll marry some 
good-for-nothing scamp, and go off with him 
just when we need her most?’ ” 

“ Oh no, I hope not,” interposed Miss 
Ruey. 

‘‘ Well, you can’t tell anything about it, 
and it’s best to be prepared,” responded Miss 
Hannah. ‘‘ I am now ; I’ve got my mind 
made up to it, even if she comes back a 
widow with half a dozen children on her 
hands. You see, I wrastled and I wrastled, 
and it seemed as if I couldn’t stand it, but 
there it was. Somebody’s got to-take her, 
and though we ain’t rich, we can get along 
and do for one more without much pinching. 
And says I, ‘ It’s no use, Hannah Maxon ; 
if it’s the call of the Lord to you, you’ve 
got to get resigned.’ So at last I did. 
Now, what do you say to it ? though I don’t 
s’pose you lost your sleep with any kind of 
a tussle.” 

‘‘ No, I didn’t,” acknowledged Miss Huey, 
rather guiltily. ‘‘ And I didn’t say much 


248 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


about it last evening, either, Hannah, for I 
knew if she did come you’d have most of 
the work, care and trouble of it. But I 
couldn’t help thinking how many poor 
homeless little ones are all around us, and 
what a blessing ’twould be to help make 
even one of them happier and better. And 
then I remembered what the Master says, 
you know : ‘ Whoso shall receive one such 
little child in my name, receiveth me.’ ” 

‘‘ Humph !” ejaculated Miss Hannah, not 
scornfully. She walked into the store and 
completed her sentence to herself while she 
was opening the shutters : ‘‘ Never thought 
of that. Now, does anybody s’pose I’d have 
laid awake all night debating whether I’d 
open my doors to Him?” 

She saw Billy that morning, and told him 
to be sure a 'id ‘‘tell that girl to come ’round 
whenever she wanted to and though Billy 
did not know where Tony lived, he soon saw 
her on the street and conveyed the invita- 
tion. Tony remained in her old quarters 
until the month expired, but even with that 
delay it was but two or three days before 
she presented herself at the store, with a 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


249 


very small bundle in her hand, before Miss 
Hannah. 

IVe come,” she said ; ‘‘ and that Peg 
Flaherty kept everything, only just my 
clothes, she did. She said ’twas hers for 
the rent.” 

‘‘ Well, I’m much obliged to her,” answered 
Miss Hannah, eying the bundle. If that’s 
all your clothes, I don’t think the furniture 
would have been worth much.” 

‘‘ I do,” declared Tony, not relishing such 
ready acquiescence in what she considered 
robbery. ‘‘Anyhow, ’twas all I had, and 
I wanted my bed to put under the coun- 
ter.” 

“Under the counter!” exclaimed Miss 
Hannah. “Now, see here, child, that’s all 
nonsense. I ain’t going to have any sleep- 
ing on floors at night and roaming the streets 
all day, and such vagabond ways. You’ve 
come here to live, not to hang ’round ; I 
never meant anything like that. And I 
don’t expect any more racing through the 
town, idling and begging, or whatever you’ve 
been used to. I expect you to belong here, 
and eat and sleep like a respectable child, and 


250 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


be dressed like one too, and go to school 
and learn as other girls do. You under- 
stand 

Tonyas face expressed a variety of emotions 
during this address — doubt and dislike at the 
idea of giving up old ways, a flash of resent- 
ment at Miss Hannah’s tone, and a half in- 
clination to defy her as she had done Mrs. 
Flaherty, with a mingling of pleasure at the 
thought of really belonging in those cozy 
rooms and eating and dressing, as the good 
lady said, ‘Mike a respectable child.” But 
at that last intimation — going to school and 
learning like other girls — her eyes bright- 
ened unmistakably. She had passed groups 
of school-girls often — nicely-dressed, care- 
free little maidens, who seemed so happy 
together, and who never noticed her — and 
now to be like them ! one of them herself! 
To know how to read as Billy did, and all 
the wonderful things that seemed to make 
them so different from anything she had 
ever been I It was almost beyond believing. 
But only her sparkling eyes told anything of 
her thought as she answered promptly and 
with unusual politeness, “Yes’m.” 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


251 


Miss Hannah had prudently occupied the 
few days before her arrival in preparing, with 
Miss Huey’s help, some garments for her 
wearing. These she produced, and at sight 
of them Tony submitted with good grace to 
the thorough sanitary course prescribed, and 
felt amply repaid for the combing and clip- 
ping of her dark locks by receiving a round 
comb from the store with which to fasten 
them back. 

Well, you do look better, I must say, 
Tony. There ! I can’t call you that,” ex- 
claimed Miss Hannah, suddenly interrupt- 
ing herself in her congratulations. “ It’s a 
boy’s name, and nothing else. Haven’t you 
any other?” 

Tony pondered a minute, then took from 
her bundle a little book, and opened it at the 
fly-leaf. 

“ There !” she said, that’s my mother’s 
name, and mine’s just the same, ’cause my 
father sgid so one time. I hid the book 
afterward for fear he’d sell it.” 

Miss Hannah took the little volume cau- 
tiously — it was French, and she could not 
tell whether it was a prayer-book or a novel 


252 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR, 


— and looked at the name, ‘‘Antoinette Du- 
rand.’^ 

“An — toi — nette!’’ repeated Miss Han- 
nah slowly; “we might call you Ann, I 
s’ pose ?” 

“ Nettie,” interposed Miss Huey quickly ; 
“ Nettie is a pretty name for a little girl. 
— Wouldn’t you like that?” 

The dark eyes flashed up at her well 
pleased, but the child only nodded. When, 
however. Miss Hannah had completed her 
transformation and sent her up stairs to be- 
stow the few worldly effects she had brought 
in the room prepared for her, Tony occupied 
the first moments of solitude in trying to 
realize the situation. It had all happened 
so suddenly and unexpectedly to her that 
it seemed like a dream, and she opened her 
eyes as widely as possible to convince her- 
self that she was awake as she looked around 
the room — a small back room with sloping 
ceiling and narrow windows, with the plain- 
est of old-fashioned furniture, its floor cov- 
ered with a variety of different bits of car- 
pet patched together. But it was a marvel 
of elegance to one accustomed to Mrs. Fla- 


THE HOMELESS AT HOME. 


253 


herty’s abode, and its new occupant sur- 
veyed it carefully. 

‘‘ My room she said at last. Then she 
walked over to the little white-covered table, 
and, taking down a small mirror that hung 
above it, scrutinized the figure with clean 
face, neatly-brushed hair, and plain, dark 
dress finished at the throat by a narrow 
white ruffle and tiny bright bow — Miss 
Ruey’s addition. 

‘‘Don’t look a bit like me — like Tony,” 
she soliloquized. “ That’s Nettie Durand ; 
she lives here and goes to school. How 
queer!” Suddenly her voice took a softer 
tone : “ Now I’m just sure He must have 
thought all this for me, ’cause nobody else 
could have made it half so nice.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE WHEELS STOPPED. 

I '^HE “ upper shaft/’ as it was called in the 
' mining district, had at last been put in 
order and work resumed in it, though not 
very vigorously. Still, its working fur- 
nished employment to many of the idlers, 
and the yards and tramways again present- 
ed a scene of activity, though the benefits 
that accrued to the cabins on the Hidge 
and in the Row were far less than they 
might have been could the Mountaineers’ 
Rest and the demoralizing effects of the 
long, dull months of the last winter have 
been swept away at once. 

Habit is strong, and the character of places, 
as of persons, once biassed in a certain direc- 
tion, changes slowly. The whole coal-region 
had acquired a bad reputation, and this was 
greatly augmented by the deeds of other 

254 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


255 


than its own proper denizens. Like attracts 
like, and with its name once established 
there drifted to this quarter the vagabond, 
debauched and vicious, thronging thither 
especially at night, when the somewhat re- 
mote location of the Mountaineers’ Lest, 
and the rugged and lonely road that led to 
it, made official visits of inspection less fre- 
quent than in the heart of the city. 

The stagnation of business enterprise 
everywhere and the closing of shops and 
manufactories added to these ranks many 
who would not else have joined them ; and 
all these causes, together with the fact that 
the reins of government were in timid and 
vacillating hands, were fast combining to 
make the neighborhood a terror to all law- 
abiding citizens. Cade Barclay, with all the 
patience at his command and all the employ- 
ment he could furnish, found it impossible, 
even among his own workmen, to bring back 
the atmosphere of happier times ; and Jessie 
often returned discouraged from her visits at 
the cabins. 

“ They might do better now,” she said ; 
“ there is less excuse than there once was.” 


256 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Less excuse in some ways, but more 
temptation in others,” her husband answer- 
ed thoughtfully. “ That saloon has taken 
strong root on the mountain, and other evils 
grow up around it naturally.” 

Still, in some of those homes Jessie had a 
deeper bond of sympathy and a more power- 
ful influence than she could ever have known 
before that night when she had suffered with 
them. ‘‘ Tempted in all points like as we are ” 
is a wonderful sentence as it describes our 
High Priest ; and in whatever faintest sense 
it can be said of his followers by those 
whom they would help and uplift, in so far 
are they peculiarly fitted for their work. 
There were some who listened to Jessie now, 
not as to one entirely different and apart 
from themselves, but as to a woman with a 
woman’s heart, richer in faith and know- 
ledge than themselves, but quite able to 
understand and sympathize, and ready to 
help too when it lay in her power. In 
some of those homes also the evils of in- 
temperance were showing themselves so 
plainly that aversion to the traf&c of the 
Mountaineers’ Rest linked the women and 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


257 


Mrs. Barclay in a union of counsel and 
effort. 

As the spring ripened into the rich, full 
beauty of summer and the bright days 
lengthened, there stole into the long, dusty 
rooms of the woolen mill an intangible 
something — a whisper or rumor that could 
not be grasped or traced, of loss, of com- 
ing trouble and suspension or failure. No 
one could tell how the suspicion had first 
come or from whom, but it had found its 
way there, and wandered like an uneasy 
spirit up and down among the looms, throw- 
ing a shadow over many faces ; for those busy 
hands represented many homes whose com- 
forts flowed in through them, and their idle 
folding meant debt and want to many house- 
holds. So the sometimes tiresome clanging 
of the great bell grew to be a music eagerly 
watched for as it sounded morning by morn- 
ing, and when its heavy tones closed the day 
upon no new tidings many a tired worker 
withdrew with a breath of relief. 

But it was only a reprieve. With the 
midsummer the indefinable boding grew to 
a certainty, and one night the great engines, 

17 


258 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


wheels and looms stopped, not to run again 
on the morrow. It was but for a two months’ 
suspension — not as bad as they had feared, 
some said — but Nat went home with the tune 
he vainly tried to whistle dying on his lips. 
Two months was a fearful time to be bridged 
over in a home like theirs. 

“ But probably I can find something to do ; 
of course I shall, for I’ll try everywhere, you 
know,” he said cheerily, yet not meeting very- 
steadily the glance of his mother’s eye or 
Louise’s as he told them what had happened. 

Poor Nat ! Can any but those who have 
learned from a like experience understand 
how the days passed after that — the search- 
ing here and there, following one futile hope 
after another ; the awakening to light morn- 
ings with the thought that surely to-day must 
bring relief, and the weary turning homeward 
at evening with no good tidings for the faces 
that watched so anxiously, yet tried to hide 
their anxiety? Project after project was sug- 
gested by newspaper advertisements or by 
kind-hearted persons of whom he inquired, 
but for some enterprises he lacked age, for 
others skill. He was only a boy still, with 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


259 


limited education, and with no trade beyond 
his knowledge of work in the mill ; he had 
no influential friends; ‘‘and in times like these 
everything is snatched up by somebody who 
belongs to somebody,” he said, half playfully, 
half sadly. 

“ But I must And something,” added the 
brave fellow resolutely a moment later, as if 
to cover any hopeless sound his words might 
have had. “ I suppose I shall, after a while ; 
it’s the waiting that is so hard.” 

It was hard, with the meagre fare growing 
more meagre daily, with new wants constantly 
arising without the means of providing for 
them. At last, despairing of other work, 
he accepted that forlorn hope, an agency. 

“ See,” he said to Louise one day, pointing 
to an advertisement in a paper he had picked 
up : “ ‘Agents Wanted — To introduce a new 
and valuable article, needed in every family, 
and so cheap that it will be sure to And 
ready purchasers.’ ” 

“ Something made or furnished here ?” 
said Louise, noticing the city address. 

“ Yes ; that is all that made me think of 
it. I might see what it is.” 


260 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


“Some agencies do pay, I suppose,’’ she 
said doubtfully. 

“ I shouldn’t expect very much from it, 
but if it would only help us along until the 
mill starts again it would be better than no- 
thing,” remarked Nat. 

He said no more then, but when he went 
out a little later Louise was sure that he had 
gone to learn more about it, and when he 
returned she looked up questioningly. 

“Yes, I went there,” he replied to the 
glance. “ I don’t know whether it will 
amount to anything, but I mean to try. 
It’s a new kind of indelible ink, Louise, 
and a new way of marking. You know so 
much that has been for sale is poor, but this 
doesn’t seem so. The man that has it told 
me all about it, tried it for me and showed 
me how to use it. He thinks it will be sure 
to sell, because the marking is so simple and 
easy, and the whole costs so little that people 
will not be likely to hesitate on that account. 
He is very anxious I should take it, and says 
I shall be certain to succeed. I don’t feel 
half so sure as he seemed,” added Nat with 
a faint laugh, “ but still, I don’t see anything 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


261 


else to do, and if it would only pay some- 
thing—” 

“ It may,” said his mother, brightening a 
little. ‘‘Did you tell him you would try 
it?” 

“ Yes, I promised to try it ; I am to go out 
to-morrow.” 

He went off bravely the next morning, 
though in truth he dreaded the undertak- 
ing. It was not pleasant employment, 
neither was it one for which he was well 
fitted with his somewhat shy, awkward ways 
and never-ready speech. He was not fiuent 
in extolling the merits of his wares — he could 
only offer them ; and beneath the coarse dress 
and the unattractive manner was the sensitive, 
kindly heart quick to feel rudeness and re- 
buff. The first day he was tolerably suc- 
cessful — sufficiently so, at least, to send him 
home at night not discouraged, but hopeful. 
But after that the sales were few and far be- 
tween, and one weary day after another he 
traveled up and down the streets, from house 
to house, persevering because he saw nothing 
else to do and must regain the money he had 
expended for his stock in trade. 


262 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


He strove to carry home a cheerful face, 
but it would tell some tales despite his ef- 
forts. It was growing thinner, and wore a 
dispirited, troubled look whenever its owner 
was off his guard. 

“So few people buy, and of course I can't 
blame them for that ; they have a right to 
do as they please about it,’’ he answered to 
Louise’s questioning one night. “But I 
shouldn’t mind — yes, I should too, for I 
want the money — but it wouldn’t be so hard 
if they’d only refuse civilly, and not treat 
me as if I were a beggar. I don’t believe 
anybody has a right to treat beggars so, for 
that matter, though I’m sure trying to sell a 
good article at only a fair price isn’t asking 
anybody’s charity. Why, Louise, I’ve had 
the door slammed in my face again and 
again, and folks have answered, ‘No, we 
don’t ; we don’t want to buy any humbugs,’ 
without waiting to hear what I had to say. 
Yesterday a woman called from an upper 
window, ‘ You needn’t come in here,’ before 
I had fairly got the gate open ; and to-day 
one stopped me in the middle of a sentence 
to say, ‘ Don’t want any of it ; and if you’ll 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


263 


take my advice, young man, you’ll stop this 
miserable peddling and go to work at some- 
thing honest/ She didn’t take the trouble 
to tell me what,” added Nat bitterly. 

Then the flash in Louise’s dark eyes sud- 
denly reminded him how much he was be- 
traying of the disagreeablenesses he had in- 
tended to keep to himself, and he changed 
his tone : 

‘‘ What am I telling you all this for ? 
Never mind, Louise; it takes all sorts to 
make a world, you know, and I’ve found a 
good many pleasant people too.” But the 
account he launched into at once of a sweet- 
faced grandmother whom he had met that 
afternoon, and of the little girl and dog who 
with heads close together had watched him 
from a window, was too gayly told to sound 
quite like Nat, and only interested Billy, 
while it did not deceive Louise. 

The long midsummer days dragged wea- 
rily to the boy. Few dreamed, as they an^ 
swered his ring at their doors and then 
hastily returned to the work or pleasure 
they had reluctantly quitted, of the little 
home he represented and the waiting, needy 


264 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


ones to whom his success or failure meant so 
much. But the burden of it pressed heavily 
upon him as he walked through the dusty 
streets, where the sun beat fiercely down 
upon brick walls and pavements and the 
heat and glare scorched and blinded him. 

He looked longingly into some of the cool 
shaded halls that opened a brief glimpse to 
him on his monotonous round. He was 
growing more and more tired day after day, 
his step lagged more wearily, though he 
tried to reason himself out of it — to con- 
vince himself that he had not lost energy or 
hope. But he found argument had no pow- 
er with his aching head and swollen feet as 
he sat down upon a doorstone to rest one 
day. He had stopped several times that 
afternoon ; he was strangely weary, and 
there was a buzzing and whirling in his 
head, as if some of the wheels and looms 
from the mill had been put in motion there. 
It must be the heat, he thought — the day 
had been unusually oppressive — or perhaps 
he had taken cold, for twice that week he 
had been caught in a sudden summer 
shower. Whatever the cause, the languor 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


265 


and weariness grew upon him, and he could 
scarcely force himself onward. 

The shadowy halls tempted him until he 
was scarcely conscious of any wish save to 
creep into one of them and lie down ; and 
they seemed connected in some indescribable 
way with a few words he had read to Susie 
— words which had slipped out of their con- 
nection and repeated themselves again and 
again as if they were ground out by the 
whirling machinery in his head : ‘‘ The 
shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” 

The days had been so nearly alike that 
he could not readily think what time in the 
week it was as he pressed his hands to his 
throbbing temples and tried to remember. 
A newsboy hurrying by enlightened him : 
“ ’Ere’s yer Evening Tribune an’ Saturday 
Supplement^ Saturday ! That had a pleas- 
ant sound. The great city would come to a 
brief pause and hush before it was wound up 
for another week’s running. He pushed his 
hat from his heated forehead and noticed 
what long shadows the houses were throwing. 
It was growing late; he would give up all 
endeavor for that day and go home. 


266 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Even with his steps turned in that direc- 
tion, his feet refused to move other than 
slowly and painfully. As he crossed a street 
leading down to a wharf a sudden cool breeze 
swept up from the river, and he turned his 
face toward it to drink in the refreshing 
breath. It was grateful for one moment, 
but the next it chilled him. He was cer- 
tainly very weak and tired, he said to him- 
self, but added, as he would be sure to do at 
home if any one noticed, ‘‘ I’ll be all right to- 
morrow.” 

But all night the busy loom in his head 
wove strange dreams, and morning found 
him still languid and unrefreshed. He wan- 
dered about the house, finding no place that 
seemed restful, and presently strayed out 
into the open air. The sound of the church- 
bells came to him there and lured him with 
their musical call, and, almost without vo- 
lition, he obeyed the summons and slowly 
turned his steps in the direction in which 
so many feet were tending. The shade and 
stillness of the lofty church, the softened 
light of the stained windows and the sweet, 
solemn tones of the organ breathed of sooth- 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


267 


ing and calm ; and, retiring to the farther 
corner of the pew to which he had been 
shown, he sank down, glad to rest and to 
listen. By and by the speaker arose. 

‘‘ If he would tell us about rivers of water 
or that ‘ rock in a weary land ’ !” thought 
Nat, dropping for a moment his eyelids 
over the balls that seemed to burn them. 
“I wonder why I keep thinking of heat and 
dryness and deserts? All the days look like 
that lately.’’ 

But the sermon with its wealth of research 
and profound argument was devoted to “ God 
in Nature” that day. Nat fancied that it 
might have meant more to him sometimes, 
but his tired brain could not follow it then, 
and only occasional sentences pierced his 
sluggish, tangled thought with any definite 
meaning. With his aching head leaning on 
his hand he listened uncomprehendingly, and 
so went away. 

In the evening, in that same church, there 
was a simple service, and its faithfully-reiter- 
ated message, ‘‘ Come unto me, all ye that 
labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give 
you rest,” might have been to the weary boy 


268 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


as cold water to a thirsty soul but he was 
not there to hear it. 

Susie silently placed the Bible upon the 
table near him when he lingered at home 
that evening, and, mechanically complying 
with the unspoken request, he opened the 
volume, and slowly turned the leaves to the 
place marked for their reading, one of the 
last chapters of the Gospel by St. John — 
the appearance of the risen Christ among 
his disciples. Nat read it without pausing, 
as usual, for question or comment, until his 
throbbing temples made him close the book 
when that single chapter was ended ; then 
he repeated the words of Thomas, and added, 
with an outspokenness not common to him 
where his own feelings were concerned, 

I shall say that too when I see him, 
Susie. I do say it now, ‘ My Lord and my 
God’— mine !” 

And Susie, slipping her hand in his, clasp- 
ing it with the feeling of a new tie between 
them, answered gladly in the words he had 
just read, 

“ ‘ These are written that ye might believe 
that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


269 


that believing ye might have life through 
his name.’ ” But the next moment she ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ How hot your hand is, Nat 

‘‘ Yes, I must get rested now and be ready 
to go out to-morrow,” he answered with a last 
brave effort. 

The whirling and throbbing in his brain 
grew worse all that night, and by morn- 
ing all conscious thought had passed away 
It was a violent fever, that burned itself 
out swiftly, hopeless from the first. There 
was a week of fierce pain, heat and thirst 
of ceaseless tossing to and fro, without 
for a moment recognizing the faces that 
bent over him — a week in which all that re- 
mained to him of earth was a delirious dream 
of an endless street lined with closed doors at 
which he was vainly knocking ; and then it 
was all over. The tired hands dropped to 
seek nothing more at earthly portals, and 
he entered that city whose gates “ shall not 
be shut at all by day,” and “ there shall be 
no night there.” 

So short and sharp the illness had been, 
so unexpectedly the blow had fallen, that it 
left the little household stunned and amazed. 


270 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


In all their care and trouble they had never 
thought of this ; they could not realize it now. 
It seemed some terrible mistake, something 
that must be undone. 

“ Why, mother, I don^t see how we can 
live without Nat!^’ said Billy in grieving 
wonder. 

Nor did she, yet, though the question was 
uttered in presence of that still brow, it did 
not ruffle its serene calm nor the lips lose 
their look of qukt peace in any answer. 

A few near neighbors came and went 
through those hurried, sorrowful days. Miss 
Hannah and Miss Ruey had lightened many 
a burden and done all that thoughtful, tireless 
kindness could do, and the physician sum- 
moned had been skillful and attentive ; but 
no human power could avail to stay the 
stroke, and there remained to those to 
whom his life had been so much but the 
facing of that terrible question. How could 
they live without him ? 

“ But whatever it is for us, it is better for 
him — oh, I’m sure it’s better for him !” Susie 
whispered to herself in the darkness that 
seemed so lonely now. She had groped her 


THE WHEELS STOPPED. 


271 


way to the white-draped bed in the twilight, 
and stood beside the form she could not see, 
remembering all the weary days that had 
come to him when he ‘‘ with earth^s poor 
needs was poor.” 

‘‘‘They shall hunger no more, neither 
thirst any more, neither shall the sun light 
on them, nor any heat,’ ” she murmured. “ I 
could almost bear it for your sake, dear, but 
what shall we do?” 

How sharp life’s contrasts are ! At the 
great house on the other street there were 
music and dancing that night. The sounds 
floated in at the open casement where Louise 
was sitting, and she could see the rooms all 
aglow with light. Bitterly she watched and 
listened, thinking of her own life, of what 
might have been, tracing the sorrows of her 
home back to the traffic that gave wealth to 
this other. Even that darkened boyhood, the 
weary, toilsome years ending thus, might all 
have been different but for that. 

“ And I wonder how many other lives 
like his it has cost to furnish the music and 
spread the feast ?” she said. “ Do they know 
that they are dancing over graves ?” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE RETURN. 

U P the river, lazily ploughing its way 
through the sunny waters and puffing 
out its black breath into the pure air, came 
a little, old, weatherbeaten steamer with un- 
washed decks, unpainted sides and battered 
pipes, and made its way, with much shouting 
of orders, swearing at ropes, shrieking of 
whistle and clanging of a cracked bell, back 
to the wharf it had quitted months before. 
The Desdemona was announced in the city 
papers that evening, though in truth it 
might have been difficult to recognize the 
craft by that name, since time or some hand 
with a sense of the fitness of things had 
nearly obliterated the last letter and the 
entire first syllable. 

Soon after it was moored David Sheldon 
appeared on shore and walked up the fa- 

272 


THE RETURN. 


273 


miliar streets toward his home. He was not 
greatly changed — a trifle more shabby perhaps, 
and his face, when one looked fairly into it, 
telling of less intoxication and more thought, 
the latter naturally following the former, and 
the former the result only of his enforced pur- 
pose to earn something. Their traces might 
have been less apparent had the thoughts been 
pleasanter. Uncomfortable companions they 
had proved, tempting the tortured man often 
to drown them in drink. Sometimes he had 
done so, but oftener he had resisted because 
of his fixed determination to restore the 
stolen money — a purpose endangered when- 
ever he drank to intoxication. 

It would not be a profitable history to fol- 
low that voyage. But through the rough 
life on board, the sailing and stopping, the 
lapses into drunkenness and the harrowing 
sober hours, Sheldon had held to his resolu- 
tion, and by one means and another, on the 
boat and in strange cities, he had slowly ac- 
cumulated until he had accomplished his 
object. The money was in his pocket now 
— the full amount and something more than 
he had taken away. They might not be 
18 


274 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


glad to see him at home, he scarcely ex- 
pected anything like a welcome, but they 
would be glad of this that he had brought, 
and they would know that he was not so ut- 
terly debased as they had thought. Susie 
should have her own again, and that one 
intolerable crime would be lifted from his 
soul. 

He quickened his steps and passed through 
the open door into the little room where his 
wife sat sewing almost as he had left her, 
but with paler cheeks and blue veins show- 
ing more distinctly on the thinner temples. 
She was alone, and his entrance did not 
arouse her from her thoughts until his voice 
startled her, and she exclaimed, 

“ David r 

It was a face so worn and sad that she 
turned toward him ! He noticed that in the 
first quick glance, but he could not bear just 
then to have her eyes cloud as if at his com- 
ing, to have the others meet him with illy- 
concealed regret in their surprise. He spoke 
hastily in his desire to forestall it if possible, 
and secure for himself a little more than bare 
toleration — unsteadily too in his eagerness : 


THE RETURN. 


275 


‘‘Yes, Mary, I’m back again. Here,” 
dropping the money into her lap, “I — I 
brought this.” 

She looked up at him, then down at the 
money, silent for a moment in the strange- 
ness of receiving anything from him, and 
began slowly to smooth out the bills with 
fingers that trembled. 

“It’s for what you wanted — for Susie,” he 
explained with difficulty. “I didn’t know, 
Mary — I’m not brute enough to rob her, 
and I’ve earned it back. I didn’t know till 
afterward. You can’t think worse of me 
than I do of myself — when I think at all ; 
but I wouldn’t have touched what you had 
worked so for, you and Louise and Nat — ” 

But at that name the mother’s anguished 
cry burst forth : 

“ Oh, David, he is dead — my boy ! my 
brave, patient, murdered boy !” 

She meant nothing by that last adjective 
beyond the wearing care and poverty and 
loss of work that had so burdened and 
crushed the boy, but the word was an arrow 
that rankled in the listener’s heart long af- 
terward. 


276 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


“ Dead ! our — Nat !’’ he repeated slowly, 
huskily, his hands grasping her chair. 

It came like a thunderbolt, and tore its 
way through the crust of vice and hardness 
that years of alienation had wrought — 
through to a quivering human heart. Nat ! 
Why, the boy was his first-born son ! The 
years swept back as if they had been noth- 
ing to a time when he built bright hopes for 
him — when he would have given his life for 
his child’s. He had hardened himself 
against the constant accusation of that 
wronged, over-burdened boyhood, but 
through it all he had never thought of 
this. Death had never entered that home 
before. 

He sank down in a seat near him, his fin- 
gers interlaced and clenched, the veins stand- 
ing out like knotted cords on his forehead. 
His eyes questioned and his wife answered, 
telling simply enough, but in words that fell 
upon his soul like drops of liquid fire, the 
story of the weary weeks, the want and care, 
the eager, vain search for employment and 
the burning fever that drank up the young 
life. Even amid her own sorrow she 


THE RETURN. 


277 


watched her listener with a vague wonder 
that the David Sheldon buried so long was 
not wholly dead, and could suffer still 
through any love he bore to wife or chil- 
dren. Woman-like, she half forgot the 
past in seeing this, and tried, stumblingly, 
to speak a word of comfort : 

It’s better for him as it is, maybe — it 
must be. Oh, David, I’m glad you have 
come ; it’s been so hard, and this will help 
us. At least it will pay the cost of laying 
him away to his resting,” with a sudden 
burst of tears. I couldn’t bear the thought 
of being indebted to strangers for that after 
all his hard life for us.” 

After a time the others came in — Susie 
slowly finding her way to her accustomed 
seat, and Louise appearing a little later with 
rolls of fresh paper and pictures from the 
box-factory. But David Sheldon did not 
notice then whether their greeting bore any 
semblance of welcome or was only regret. 
He had forgotten all care for that in other 
thoughts, and he only wanted to escape 
from every one and be alone. 

His wife sighed as she saw him take up 


278 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


liis hat again, and hastily leave the house 
for the street, yet asked herself sadly the 
next moment what else she had expected. 
Doubtless he would have but the one pur- 
pose of trying to forget his dead boy as 
speedily as possible, and drink only the 
more deeply because of any pain her tid- 
ings had caused him. 

Through the streets David Sheldon hur- 
ried, and away to the river-bank beyond 
the town, not heeding how fast or far he 
walked, only seeking some place where no 
curious eyes could follow him. It was quiet 
and lonely enough where he stopped at last, 
far down on the shore, sheltered by a steep 
bank, and threw himself upon the ground. 
Fool that he had been, he groaned, to think 
that he could undo even that one wrong ! It 
had traveled too fast for any reparation to 
overtake it ; it would go on accumulating its 
awful consequences for ever. Fool to dream 
that the paltry sum of money taken could 
make all right again ! The wealth of a 
hundred worlds, if he had it now, could not 
undo what had been done. Nat’s care for 
Susie, his efforts to provide for her and give 


THE RETURN. 


279 


her back the chance of which her father had 
robbed her, had been the heaviest of the bur- 
dens which had crushed the boy in the very 
prime of his youth. 

“ Murdered ” his mother had said. Ay, 
and he was — robbed and murdered, a life- 
long robbery and a slow murder wrought by 
hands that the law could not reach. Every 
detail of that life, every memory, rising clear 
and sharp now, of the saddened face at leav- 
ing school so early ; of the weary face, with 
boyhood’s brightness gone from it, coming 
home from the patient work in the mill 
day after day ; of the shoulders stooped and 
rounded by toil unfit for their years ; of the 
hard, cramped, humiliating lot, — these all 
were as poisoned spears. 

“ If I could but give him one happy week, 
but see him happy once through me, it would 
not be so intolerable ; but this — If I had 
been a man, or could make myself wholly a 
brute ! If it were not for this awful some- 
thing in me that I cannot kill, and which 
will not be at rest!” he cried. 

However theologians may argue, the man 
on the river-bank that day entertained no 


280 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


doubts of a perdition for lost souls ; its hor- 
rors seemed already around him — ay, and 
within him. 

“ Thought is deeper than all speech, 

Feeling deeper than all thought.” 


We will not try to follow that heart in all 
the subtle pangs of its remorse or penetrate 
to all its dark chambers of agony. Human 
analysis fails. Only the Eye all-pitiful is 
also all-seeing. 

Susie shall have her chance again,” he 
said, repeating the old sentence. But my 
boy—” 

His utter powerlessness wellnigh mad- 
dened him. He could not wrest a single 
day back from the past. Tears nor prayers 
nor life could do it. Hours he sat there 
motionless, only one steady purpose running 
through the chaos of his thoughts : he must 
do what Nat had tried to do. He could not 
give back to the mother and sisters the life 
of which they had been robbed, but he 
must give them the help that life would 
have given. No intoxication, no old habits, 
must so far beguile him as to make him 


THE RETURN. 


281 


wholly forget it. Somewhere, some way, 
he must earn for them. 

It was simply as Nat's work that he took 
it up, not as his own — only to restore in 
some measure what they had been robbed 
of in the son and brother, not what they 
had missed in the father. In all his plan- 
ning for them then there was no resolution 
of regaining his own manhood or attempting 
to redeem his own wasted life ; he did not 
even think of himself save as utterly de- 
based and lost: what he was he still must 
be. There was no purpose, hope, or indeed 
thought, of his own salvation. 

When at last he went home in the early 
twilight, his wife looked up in surprise, first 
at his coming at all at that hour, then at the 
manner in which he came — worn, haggard, 
but sober. She said nothing, however, nor 
did he, but sitting down in a corner shaded 
from the lights that Louise brought in, he 
watched her as she moved about preparing 
the evening meal. Presently the mother 
took a pail to fetch some water from the 
hydrant in the yard. A swift memory that 
this had been Nat's task fiashed across his 


282 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


brain. It was that, rather than any latent 
stirring of his old kindly, courteous self, 
that made him start and take the pail 
from her hand : 

“ I’ll do that, Mary.” 

It was a little thing, the veriest trifle, 
nothing to build a hope upon, nor did she 
consciously build any, yet the wife’s sad face 
took a softer look and her tired feet a lighter 
step because of it. 

The supper over — a pitifully scant and 
plain one it had proved, though no one 
remarked upon the fact — the husband and 
father lingered uneasily, feeling far from at 
home in his own household, and uncertain 
what to do next in pursuance of his purpose. 
In his perplexity he sought Susie. It seemed 
easier to speak to her than to the others, pos- 
sibly because her eyes could not so question 
his face ; yet even there he hesitated, falter- 
ed, and made himself but half understood : 

‘‘ Susie girl, it’s hard for you without Nat,” 
speaking the name with difficulty. 

“ So hard !” she answered with quivering 
lip. ‘‘ Oh, father, he was so good, so unsel- 
fish and thoughtful for us all !” 


THE RETURN. 


283 


‘‘He helped you so much, in so many 
things. If I knew what — if there was any- 
thing that I could do ” — he began again, and 
paused abruptly. 

She turned her face toward him, a faint 
eager flush overspreading it: 

“ Will you ? I’d be so glad ! He read to 
me so much — was it that you meant ? — and 
I’ve missed it so since. I couldn’t ask the 
others, you know ; they have been more busy 
than ever since he went away. The missing 
him and the word of comfort together has 
made the darkness so lonely and hard, 
father!” she said in a sudden tearful burst of 
confidence that she never could have given 
him but for the feelings awakened by his 
unexpected offer. 

An offer, in truth, that he had no inten- 
tion of making, but he could not shrink from 
it then, nor explain that she had misunder- 
stood his but half-expressed meaning. Some- 
thing in her appeal, too, brought a strange 
thrill of gratification even while the words 
of it tortured him ; and when she laid her 
hand upon the book on a table near her, he 
took it up, saw what it was, but only asked, 


284 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Where, Susie?’’ 

“ Wherever you please,” she answered 
more timidly, half frightened at her own 
boldness now that her impulsive words were 
spoken — half afraid of this father, more 
strange than any stranger — yet touched and 
grateful withal as she leaned back in her low 
chair and turned her pale face toward him to 
listen. 

He did not choose ; he opened the vol- 
ume at random, and read where his eyes 
first rested : 

‘‘ Behold, I will send my messenger, and 
he shall prepare the way before me ; and 
the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly 
come to his temple, even the messenger of 
the covenant whom ye delight in: behold, 
he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts. But 
who may abide the day of his coming ? and 
who shall stand when he appeareth ?” 

Susie’s face brightened at the words : 
“And a book of remembrance was written 
before him for them that feared the Lord 
and that thought upon his name. And they 
shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that 
day when I make up my jewels ; and I will 


THE RETURN. 


285 


spare them as a man spareth his own son that 
serveth him.” 

But there was no comfort in them for the 
reader. Sharper than a two-edged sword 
they were from first to last, and he closed 
the book upon them, took up his hat and 
hastened away without a word. 

“ I will be a swift witness against them.” 

Will a man rob God ?” He tried to forget 
these sentences as he walked up and down 
the streets baring his head to the cool even- 
ing air while the long twilight yielded place 
to the stars. Was not the bitter testimony 
that his own soul bore against itself witness 
enough? Was there not ‘‘robbery” beyond 
all his power of reparation without the ap- 
pearing of this high claimant? 

Presently he turned out of the crowded 
thoroughfares and took the old road wind- 
ing up the mountain. The “ Best ” had not 
ceased to flourish in these months, evident- 
ly, for it was more brilliantly illuminated 
than of old, and through its open door, as 
he hesitated a moment on the threshold, he 
saw that the number of customers had also 
increased. All about the place looked un- 


286 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


changed — the mine, the rugged mountain- 
side and the flaming coke-pits on the slope. 

“Appropriate,” he muttered as his eye 
fell on these last — “ this den on the cliff*, and 
just a little below it those pits with their 
fiery mouths.” 

A coarse, confused clamor of greeting 
arose upon his entrance : 

“ Who’s that ? Dad Sheldon ?”— “ Hallo ! 
where did you come from ? Thought you’d 
run away or drowned yourself, or some- 
thing.” — “Drown himself! he! he! The 
idea of Dad taking to water so long as he 
can git whisky !” chuckled a facetious indi- 
vidual. — “ Dad himself, thirsty as ever. I’ll 
be bound ! Come up and take a drink, old 
fellow !” called out another in rough good- 
nature. 

He accepted the invitation, and a number 
of the old frequenters of the place gathered 
around him with questions : 

“ What have you been about all this time ? 
Where’ ve you been ?” 

He drained his glass before he replied, 
and then answered briefly enough that he 
had been down the river. Some one called 


THE HETURN. 


287 


for a ‘‘history of the voyage,’^ but he was 
not disposed to be communicative. Some of 
the faces gathered there were unfamiliar, but 
they were more welcome than the ones he 
knew. 

“ See here, Dad,” said the barkeeper in a 
patronizing way, “ youhe back just in time. 
I was thinking about you only yesterday. 
There’s some coal we want moved in the 
cellar, and some things cleared up, and we’d 
as soon hire you as anybody. You’ll work 
cheap, won’t you?” with a wink. 

“ For cash,” David answered quietly. 

“Cash, hey? What’s that for?” ques- 
tioned the man in an altered tone, and evi- 
dently surprised at the stipulation. “ Want 
to earn your money here and spend it in 
some other establishment, eh ? That’s what 
I’d call a shabby trick.” 

“ I want it in money and not in drink, 
that’s all,” he replied. 

“ Might as well agree to that, Joe ; it’ll 
amount to the same thing in the end,” coun- 
seled a bystander with a laugh. 

Joe probably thought it would, for his 
face lost its momentary sourness, and he re- 


288 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


marked that he didn’t care, and added, 
Come ’round to-morrow.” 

Sheldon nodded; he was in no talkative 
mood, and even a second glass of liquor, 
prospered by the barkeeper, who gradually 
thawed into his usual self-complacency, did 
not overcome his gloomy reticence. Some 
one with humanity not quite drugged into 
unconsciousness, and who knew him better 
than the others, presently recollected a fact 
which he communicated to his companions : 

‘‘Let him alone. A boy of his died 
while he’s been oflP, and I reckon he’s just 
heard it and feels down-spirited.” 

Gradually, as the bit of intelligence circu- 
lated, they ceased to address question or re- 
mark to him particularly, and left him to 
himself — a miserable companionship he ac- 
knowledged while he sat there moodily si- 
lent. 

He had accepted the barkeeper’s offer, yet 
he did make some vain search for work in 
the city before he went to the mountain the 
next day. The terms named were miser- 
ably low ; he knew they would be, and did 
not enter upon an argument that would have 


THE RETURN. 


289 


been useless, but began his labor silently. 
To his determination to receive only money 
in payment, however, he adhered with a 
steadiness that surprised his employer. 
Drink he did, not infrequently, but only as 
he obtained it in return for occasional ser- 
vices in the saloon — services entirely apart 
from his contract, and which would bring 
him no other compensation. 

He noticed, as he was about the place day 
after day, some changes in its features and 
frequenters. These last had grown more 
numerous and were of varied classes. Be- 
sides the miners and those employed in dif- 
ferent ways about the shafts and lading- 
wharfs, there was a not inconsiderable city 
element that seemed to drift thither regu- 
larly at nightfall. A certain clannishness 
had grown up among them too — a banding 
of themselves together, partly in antagonism 
to the public opinion that had branded the 
whole neighborhood, and in opposition to 
the efforts — rather weak ones they had sure- 
ly been — on the part of some civil authori- 
ties to interfere with the Rest and the doings 
of its inmates. We Mountaineers ’’ was a 


19 


290 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


phrase frequently heard there, and their suc- 
cess in braying policemen, with the terror in 
which they were assured the locality was 
held, was a standing joke at the bar and 
over the gaming-table. 

“But mind ye, the city election^ll come 
on directly now,’^ observed one in mock 
alarm when the talk waxed uproarious one 
night. “ W ait till they put in them asdl 
come down hard on us, and see how we’ll 
keep low or travel out of this.” 

“ We’ll have a vote or two in that same 
’lection ourselves,” was the quick reply. 

“ Ay, and if ours ain’t enough, there’s 
plenty more to be bought for whisky,” 
chimed in another; “the more whisky the 
more votes these days, whichever side it’s 
on.” 

“ True enough for you,” interposed a man, 
comparatively a newcomer there, superior to 
the miners and coalmen in dress and lan- 
guage, but lower than most of them in 
every other respect. “We can raise enough 
to put in whichever candidate suits us best 
for mayor — or pick our own, for that mat- 
ter.” 


THE RETURN. 


291 


“ That’s the talk !”— ‘‘Hurrah !”— “That’ll 
fix the business !” — “ Put in a man of our 
own !” chorused a number of voices thickly 
hilarious, catching at the new suggestion 
and approving it at once. 

“ Here, Dad ! — Where’s Dad Sheldon ? — 
Mount the bench, man, and give us a 
speech. There’s a subject to make your 
tongue go ! Our rights and liberties and a 
mayor of our own !” began one eager for a 
demonstration, but a louder voice inter- 
posed : 

“Dad? Why, he’s the very fellow for 
the place himself! If he ain’t a represen- 
tative man, now, who is?” 

The remark was considered particularly 
apt, and greeted with a laugh. But the 
idea it contained had evidently pleased the 
fancy of the crowd. 

“ I say. Dad, how’d you like the office ?” 
asked one, turning to the figure sitting a 
little apart with face shaded by hands be- 
tween which it rested. 

“ Well — the salary,” he answered briefly, 
lifting his head just for a moment. 

“ That you would ! and know how to 


292 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


spend it too ! We’d be sure of our share 
of it/’ retorted the questioner; and again 
the others laughed. 

But they had fallen in love with their 
scheme, and what was begun in mere idle 
talk they considered more earnestly, though 
scarcely more soberly, as the evening wore 
on. The Bidge, the Bow, the surrounding 
neighborhood and all the frequenters of 
the Best formed a number not insignificant. 
They could infiuence many votes, and bribe 
many more. Besides, if they kept quiet 
and did not betray their purpose, as the 
leaders in the plan explained, the opposi- 
tion would be divided and easily outnum- 
bered. The respectable old fogies ” of the 
city would never hear of the Mountaineers’ 
candidate until he was fairly elected. 

Aside from the mere bravado of the 
scheme, the temptation to show their 
strength and intimidate and horrify the 
law-abiding element by overriding them 
and taking possession of the government, 
was the convenience that might accrue to 
themselves by having the reins in their 
own hands. No more fear of molestation 


THE RETURN. 


293 


then. They would be sure of a period of 
license in which to reap what harvest they 
could. 

David Sheldon they agreed upon as the 
man for their purpose from the moment his 
name was first mentioned. He could talk 
readily, his education and legal knowledge 
qualified him for the place, while, for the 
rest, he was undeniably one of themselves 
and would be wholly in their hands. 

Long after the subject of their remark 
had made his way down the rugged road 
homeward some of the deeper heads of the 
party discussed the matter in all its details, 
until from a random suggestion it was trans- 
formed to a deeply-laid plot ; and when they 
at last separated there arose from one unstea- 
dy voice, angrily hushed by the others, the 
shout, 

‘‘ ’Eah for His Honor the mayor !” 


CHAPTER XY. 

ELECTED. 

I N his persistent search for work as the days 
passed, though he obtained no permanent 
employment, David Sheldon found occasional 
jobs here and there that brought him some 
money — a few hours’ service as porter or 
odd bits of work on boats or about the 
wharves. Whatever sums were thus earned 
he faithfully carried home, dropping them, 
usually without a word of explanation, into 
his wife’s hand. 

It had been so long since he had mani- 
fested any real interest in the affairs of the 
household or made any attempt to provide 
for its wants, so many hopes had been disap- 
pointed in the past, that the sad-hearted wife 
dared indulge none now. ‘‘ It will not last 
long; I must expect nothing,” she drearily 
assured herself; and yet, despite her own 

294 


ELECTED, 


295 


prophecy, she began to watch for his com- 
ing, to build a little in her anxious planning 
for each week on the possibility of help from 
him. The surprise of seeing him assume 
Nat’s home-tasks had in a measure worn 
away, yet still the wife’s eyes brightened 
and her heart throbbed at every little of- 
fice thus rendered. 

His work at the Mountaineers’ Kest had 
not been very speedily accomplished ; not 
that it really required a long time, but, find- 
ing that for some of it they were in no haste, 
he had interspersed it with his occasional 
hours of employment elsewhere, and with 
those other long hours of searching for em- 
ployment which formed indeed his chief oc- 
cupation in those days. Then, too, though 
he would not spend his money there, he 
worked unquestioningly and for low wages. 
If he drank much less than he had once 
done, his services were all the more valu- 
able — a fact the proprietor was not slow to 
discover and take advantage of after the 
first-named tasks were completed by be- 
stowing upon him some other work as it 
arose about the place. 


296 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


So it happened still that Sheldon was al- 
most daily at the Rest. Possibly he would 
have been there had there been no oppor- 
tunity of earning anything at the place, yet 
there was slowly growing within him a loath- 
ing of the place, as there was of the self that 
had found it congenial. Even to consciences 
seared and hardened until they have been 
deemed utterly dead there comes, some- 
times, a sudden awakening. Nay, there aU 
ways comes such, for the dawning of the 
clear, cold light of eternity, that for ever 
sweeps away all fictions and deceits, will 
also awaken all sleepers. But sometimes 
the arousing to life mercifully comes here 
— comes through some keen afldiction or 
terrible anguish, merciful still, though with 
a lightning-like gleam it reveals the soul to 
itself, and the spirit writhes and agonizes in 
its throes of remorse. 

David Sheldon had stupefied his soul for 
years to the extent of his power, rushing to 
his excesses only because that troubled sleeper 
within him would start into mutterings and 
groanings that tortured him whenever its 
slumber grew too light. But the knowledge 


ELECTED, 


297 


that he had robbed Susie came like a fearful 
revelation, and by far the bitterest part of 
the reparation he had vowed was the en- 
forced restraint that left him a prey to his 
own self-accusings. And now Nat’s death 
had deepened and intensified what had be- 
fore seemed intolerable, and he staggered 
under its weight with a cry like one of 
old : “ My punishment is greater than I 
can bear!” 

It was but to supply in some measure what 
his family had lost with the dead boy from 
their substance and comfort that he had any 
hope — only of repairing a part of the wrong 
to them. Yet sometimes his own abused 
manhood and cheated life asserted its claims 
— told of the sin against himself also, stand- 
ing like some pale ghost wringing its hands 
at the portals of its former existence and 
pleading for a chance to live again. There 
was no chance ; he was worse than nothing. 
All there was of him had been ruined and 
doomed long ago, he said despairingly when 
such whisperings made themselves heard. 
Oftenest they came in that task he shrank 
from, yet still performed because it had been 


298 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


Nat^s — reading to Susie. He had robbed her 
of her chance of sight, he had left the over- 
burdened boy who had been her help and 
comforter, eyes to her in her darkness, to 
stagger on alone until he fell. And now he 
must take, as far as possible, his boy’s place 
in this also, even though the strong, clear 
words pierced him through. 

What those readings were to him Susie 
did not dream. She wondered at the re- 
peatedly-proffered services, wondered at his 
willingness to read that book to her, yet she 
accepted it as God’s own blessing, his daily 
gift of comfort to her. Strange readings 
they were, in which she scarcely dared to 
express a desire for any particular passage, 
lest she should repel her reader, while he 
read always what his eye fell upon, open- 
ing the volume at random. And yet was it 
random ? The bow “ drawn at a venture ” 
sends many an arrow straight to the appoint- 
ed mark, and while the promises and comfort 
to the righteous and the faithful revealed but 
more clearly the fearful contrast of his own 
lot, still, some of those pleadings with the 
sinful of old, the tender entreaties to return 


ELECTED. 


299 


and be at peace, thrilled him as with the 
faint stirrings of a new hope. Impossible ! 
he said to himself; there was nothing left 
for him. Yet those promises — “ Though 
your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white 
as snow ; though they be red like crimson, 
they shall be as wool “ Whosoever cometh 
to me, I will in no wise cast out ” — seemed 
to hold a wonderful depth of meaning and 
fixed themselves tenaciously in his memory. 

It was these things — the coming into the 
presence of Jesus of Nazareth, the scornful 
testimony of the Pharisees, ‘‘ This man re- 
ceiveth sinners,’’ linking itself with those 
remembered words of the stranger on the 
street, ‘‘ I know of but One who willingly 
receives such, the Lord Jesus Christ ” — 
which awakened the indefinite longing, 
struggled against, ignored as an impossibil- 
ity, yet growing stronger, that was making 
old scenes and associations abhorrent. 

Meanwhile, the project that sprang so 
suddenly into life at the Mountaineers’ Pest 
was maturing. The more crafty and schem- 
ing heads of the party — perhaps the worst 
ones as well — were cautiously arranging it 


300 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


in practicable shape. Some, seeing David 
Sheldon more seldom among them than for- 
merly, and then taciturn and without his old 
talkative and often absurdly bombastic man- 
ner, were somewhat disposed to quarrel with 
the change and the selection made; but 
others who had known him longer checked 
such expressions: 

‘‘ Never mind him. His boy dying and 
all that has made him a little blue just now, 
and he don’t feel sure enough of this thing 
yet to be much set up on account of it. It’s 
so much the better for us if he’ll only keep 
pretty quiet for a while and not attract too 
much notice to himself. We all know what 
he is. He’ll come out fast enough if we 
carry the day, and after that we’ll have 
everything our own way. Let him alone; 
if he can keep straight long enough to get 
into office decently, so much the better for 
him and us.” 

In truth, the most they wanted was a 
figurehead for their plan, and they thought 
he would easily be managed in that capacity. 
So they troubled themselves very little about 
his present moods, and did not even think it 


ELECTED. 


301 


necessary always to make him one in their 
meetings for consultation. He had one ad- 
vantage over most political candidates : he 
was not expected to furnish any money to 
carry on the campaign. They knew that 
was an impossibility, and did not even ap- 
proach him upon the subject. 

‘‘ Do ye think ye’d know how to manage 
the duties of the office if ye should get 
’lected, and how to deal with fellers like 
us, Dad?” questioned one of the roughest 
of the throng one day. 

‘‘ I think I should,” he answered with a 
sudden gleam in his eyes that the questioner 
might have interpreted as ominous had he 
seen it. 

Yet it was only a passing thought that 
suggested the reply, not a deliberate pur- 
pose. There was, to his view, small proba- 
bility of his ever being tested in that way. 
He did not know how sagaciously the plot 
had been laid nor how widely its working 
had extended. He remembered how the 
subject had originated, and it was only that 
to him still — a mere freak of the crowd that, 
for the purpose of astonishing the city au- 


302 VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 

thorities and certain respectable citizens, they 
might carry out at the polls, but which would 
result in nothing more. In the darkness 
pressing upon his soul in those days ; in the 
hungering cry awakening within him — too 
late, he fiercely told himself — for something 
better than the wretched husks on which he 
had starved his life ; in the dreary outlook 
for any employment of a permanent nature 
by which he could provide for his family 
and restore to Susie that lost hope that so 
haunted him, — he had enough of engross- 
ing thought to leave but little room for 
speculating upon the plans of the Moun- 
taineers’ Hest. 

In the gloom that isolated him he spoke 
but little to his old companions upon any 
topic, and was far less interested concerning 
this one than they supposed him to be. As 
the leaders were seeking not so much his 
advancement as the furtherance of their own 
ends, and as he had no full purse with which 
to aid the undertaking, they took no special 
pains to keep him informed of the details of 
their project. The most they wanted of him 
then, as they had said, was that he should 


ELECTED. 


303 


keep quiet and not render himself conspic- 
uous. 

The weeks slipped by, changing the fad- 
ing summer into autumn. The leaves grew 
crimson and golden, flaunted their glories for 
a little, and fell. The woodland hung out 
scarlet wreaths and the mountain-side was 
adorned with flaming clusters of sumach. 
The mornings grew crisp with the breath 
of early frosts, and the evenings chill. Jes- 
sie Barclay, in her visits to her cabin-friends, 
began to discuss with them the capabilities of 
little worsted dresses and the remodeling of 
small jackets, congratulating them and her- 
self the while that the prospects were so 
much brighter for this winter than they 
were the last — the promise of work far bet- 
ter. And in among these busy autumn days 
came that eventful one, the election. 

The papers had previously announced it 
as likely to be one of unusual order and 
quiet, as there had been little bitter parti- 
sanship and excitement manifested during 
the preceding weeks. But it scarcely look- 
ed so to any who watched the swaying, jost- 
ling throngs about the polls, spreading far 


304 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


out over the pavement and even into the 
streets; eager hands thrusting out tickets 
and hoarse voices advocating their merits; 
knots gathered here and there, gesticulating, 
arguing and quarreling ; while over all was 
a thick cloud of smoke arising from innu- 
merable pipes and cigars, and the air was 
heavy with liquor-laden breath. 

A constantly-changing crowd, elbowing 
and pushing, buttonholing and talking. 
Sharp-eyed individuals like birds of prey 
pounced upon any newcomer who had the 
least appearance of being undecided, often 
two at once trying to carry off the prize in 
opposite directions. Meanwhile, went on a 
steady buying and selling of votes — parties 
conveyed to neighboring saloons to imbibe 
the liquor which was to them convincing 
proof of the merits of a candidate. Watch- 
ing the seething and uproar, an impartial 
observer might have fancied it less a fit rep- 
resentation of a glorious republican institu- 
tion than like some witch-brewing, in which 
the scum — a very offensive scum — had risen 
to the surface. 

Many citizens living at slightly inconve- 


ELECTED. 


305 


nient distances, merchants busy with the ar- 
ranging of new goods for the season, and 
factory- and shop-men glad to be at work 
again after the dull times, either decided 
that they could not well go to the polls that 
day or postponed their voting for a bit of 
leisure-time that did not come, and so omit- 
ted it altogether. All these consoled them- 
selves with the reflection that a single vote 
was of very little consequence. Another 
than any of these there was who paid lit- 
tle attention to the matter — David Sheldon. 
He was heartsick that day. The work at 
the Rest had been completed several days 
before — a fact he could not greatly regret 
but for the loss of the pittance to his fam- 
ily — and he could And nothing elsewhere. 
For the last week he had searched the city, 
wandering wearily up and down the streets 
without finding even an hour’s employment 
that would bring him anything. 

Any place where he was known was by 
that very fact barred against him ; he had 
no character, either morally or as a skillful 
workman, to commend him. Thinking it 
all over, he could see no prospect that it 
20 


306 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


would ever be different. No one would 
trust him with anything more than such 
chance tasks as he had obtained, and there 
might often be long dearths of these, as 
now. How could he ever make right the 
wrong done to his blind daughter, or do 
anything for those whom he had promised 
to help, whom he loved ? for every glance at 
his wife’s silvering hair, every turning of 
Susie’s sightless eyes toward him, every 
sight of Louise in her faded dress, smote 
him with a pang that only love could have 
added to remorse. It was hard that now, 
when not only for their sakes but even for 
his own, if that might be, he was longing for 
something better, — that now the retribution 
for his past should overtake him and render 
him powerless, seeing, but for ever unable to 
blot it out, the evil he had done. 

It was in this despairing mood that he 
came to the hour that by tacit consent had 
become Susie’s, and took up the Bible that 
she had silently placed near him. It was at 
the old, old story he opened, of the One who 
walked on the shores of Galilee and taught 
in the cities of Judea — of the voice that 


ELECTED. 


307 


said, ‘‘Thy sins are forgiven thee.” He 
read of the evil spirits cast out, of the hun- 
gry fed, of the many requests granted, of 
none denied : 

“ Now when the sun was setting, all they 
that had any sick with divers diseases 
brought them unto him : and he laid his 
hands on every one of them, and healed 
them.” 

At that word the tempest-tossed soul burst 
forth involuntarily in the cry so long re- 
pressed : 

‘^Oh, child, if a broken heart could but 
be carried to him for healing !” 

“ It can,” she replied, trembling at this 
answer to the prayer she had so long been 
offering. “ ‘ He healeth the broken in heart 
and bindeth up their wounds.'” 

Ah, hearts broken by sorrow ; but sin- 
broken ones, broken by their own sins, a 
blasted, ruined life ! Susie, it's no use, no 
hope. A whole new life could not atone ; I 
see that at last. My blood could not wash it 
out,” he said, pouring out all the bitter 
truth now that the seal of silence was 
broken. 


308 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


“ Not yours, father — no ; but the blood of 
the Holiest can — ‘ shed for many for the re- 
mission of sins,’ ” she answered. 

Not for me, not for sins like mine,” he 
said gloomily. 

If you will accept his atonement as 
yours!” she urged in intense earnestness. 
“Oh, father, don’t you see? Christ never 
asked how sick they were, how sinful, those 
who came to him; he healed them every 
one. ‘The blood of Jesus Christ his Son 
cleanseth us from all sin.’ ” 

He had closed the book, and resting his 
arm upon it, sat with his head bowed upon 
his hand. He looked up at her last words, 
but answered them only by a slight motion 
of the head, a despairing negative, forget- 
ting for the moment that she could not see 
the gesture ; then rising he went away. 

Long after he had gone, after the sound 
of his steps had died away on the sidewalk, 
Susie sat there alone in the twilight, wishing 
that she were richer in faith and knowledge, 
that she had known better what to say to 
him, and had not let him go away wholly 
unconvinced — as if that work were hers, 


ELECTED. 


309 


poor child! — wondering whether he would 
ever speak of these things again. 

It was late when he returned that night, 
and after a few miserable sleepless hours, 
whose enforced stillness was intolerable, he 
arose in the early dawn and sought the 
street again before any of the household 
were astir. The city was silent and deserted 
at that hour, a strange hush in the thorough- 
fares, where the busy flow of daily life had 
not yet begun. Only an occasional watch- 
man wending homeward looked at him 
sleepily as he passed. There was no one to 
notice as he took his old way to the river, 
scarcely conscious himself why he did so, ex- 
cept of the one vague desire to be away from 
all questioning eyes. 

If there could be for him the hope of 
which Susie had spoken ! But that was im- 
possible, he repeated to himself — impossible ! 
He thought over all the weary, torturing 
record of the years, growing ever blacker as 
he scanned it. Nothing could undo what 
they had wrought or make his life of any 
hope or worth again. Even the feeble rep- 
aration he had planned was beyond his pow- 


310 


VAGABOND AND VICTOB. 


er. Drearily he watched the gray fog roll 
slowly up from the water and the first faint 
rays of the sun pierce through its folds. 
There could be for him no uplifting of the 
chilling, heavy mists of sin, no rising of the 
Sun of righteousness, no coming day, he 
murmured in his anguish. Yet even while 
he pressed the hopeless assurance upon his 
soul the new longing grew and strengthen- 
ed there. Despite his reiterated unbelief, 
a voice still made itself heard : From 
all sin — his blood cleanseth from all sin,” 
and its persistence battled with his despair. 
There was nothing left for him, he said, but 
at last the words changed to a prayer, a 
broken sentence wrung out with strong cry- 
ing and tears : 

‘‘Oh, Christ, if it might be! if for one 
like me thy mercy could hold any help or 
hope 1” 

That was all, only an if; but it would not 
be crushed out, and slowly gathered about it 
many words that he had read to Susie in the 
weeks past. The sun rose high over the 
river, skiffs and steamers appeared on its 
waters, and a muffled roaring and humming 


ELECTED. 


311 


— the voices of the city coming mingled and 
faint here — told that the world was awake 
and at work again. But still David Shel- 
don sat there on the old boat upturned on 
the shore. His passionate emotion had in a 
measure expended its force, and he grew 
calmer, his thoughts quieter. Whether any 
message of peace had hushed them, or only 
apathy had settled upon the worn spirit, he 
did not question then. He did not know 
that any belief or comfort had come to him, 
and yet his poignant anguish had subsided. 
He saw no hope or prospect before him, yet 
a strange quietness had come to him, and it 
was with a subdued step and face that at last 
he took his way back to the city. 

Walking slowly along the street, unob- 
servant of any around him, some one stopped 
him : 

“ Dad, where on earth have you been 
hiding yourself? Don’t you know you’re 
elected ?” 

“Elected?” he repeated uncomprehend- 
ingly. 

“ Yes, sir — mayor of this respectable city. 
Nice one you are to be the last to know it !” 


312 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


with a half sneer. “ Tell you, the rest of us 
had to keep our eyes sharper open than that 
to get you in. We did it, though — flanked 
’em completely ; and such a bewildered set 
never was seen in this burgh.” 

‘‘Are you sure?” questioned David, his 
voice trembling with its earnestness. 

“ Sure as I am of anything. Why, what’s 
the matter with you, that you don’t know 
what’s been going on?” 

And the man poured forth a hurried ac- 
count of the previous day’s doings and re- 
sults — a confused mingling of expressions 
of triumph at the success of the scheme and 
excited explanation of how the introduction 
of a third candidate had taken everybody 
by surprise, 

David Sheldon scarcely heard him ; only 
one thought filled his mind. Elected! A 
wide door opened in his hedged-up path. 
God had indeed given him another chance, 
then — hope and work and wages, even work 
for him. It flooded his soul with a swift, 
sure conviction that the mercy he had so 
doubtingly sought had come to him. He 
questioned it no more than if he had heard 


ELECTED. 


313 


the voice that answered in human language 
long ago, and his whole heart responded 
with humble, wondering, grateful faith, 

‘‘Lord, I will follow thee whithersoever 
thou goest.” 

His informant presently hastened away, 
and Sheldon slowly made his way homeward 
— into the little room where the autumn sun- 
shine was streaming, and where Susie’s face, 
pale and somewhat concerned with thinking 
what his long absence might bode, turned 
anxiously toward the door at the sound of 
his step. She was alone, and he went to her 
side and tried to tell her what had come to 
him. But words are so pitifully poor and 
weak ! 

“ Child,” he said, “ it is all true. He is 
‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever.’ 
He has said it to me too, Susie, to me — ‘ Go 
and sin no more.’ ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

RETURNING LIGHT. 

T he good people who had been too busy to 
take any interest in the election, who had 
quietly attended to their own afiairs and left 
politics to those most interested, were pro- 
foundly surprised and shocked when the re- 
sult of the ballot was made known. Not 
that they knew anything of David Sheldon 
— that name was barely recognizable even 
by those who knew the man — but the in- 
formation that he had been chosen from and 
elected by the roughs of the city speedily 
spread, and these good people gravely de- 
clared it disgraceful, and wondered to what 
the country was coming. 

The wife of the successful candidate 
shared in no small degree their feeling, 
and her cheek flushed, not with pride, but 
with shame, when the news first reached 

314 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


315 


her. Had it not been hard enough before, 
she asked bitterly, that the family must be 
dragged from its obscurity now to have its 
poverty and shame made public? She had 
begun to hope a little of late that the change 
so long despaired of might yet be not impos- 
sible — had even dared to pray for it, and 
was beginning to take a faint comfort in the 
words to which Susie so clung — to think they 
might hold something for her also. And now 
this had come, and she knew how it would end. 
The men who had succeeded in putting her 
husband in office would be more closely con- 
nected with him than ever ; he would run to 
all the old excesses, and it would end in hu- 
miliation deeper than ever, because public. 

So the burdened, despondent heart gloom- 
ily foreboded. But as the days passed, and 
he went about as steadily as he had done for 
weeks — with the one exception, that where 
he had drunk but seldom he now drank not 
at all, saying but little and seeming in no 
wise elated — she tried to repress her fears, 
and waited for time to make its own disclo- 
sures. So, with much prophetic shaking of 
heads, waited the public likewise ; and, also 


316 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


beginning to have their forebodings, though 
from a different cause — they could not un- 
derstand why their nominee separated him- 
self so entirely from them — waited the party 
who had elected him. 

Poor mayor-elect ! there were no brilliant 
horoscopes cast for him, no hopeful auguries 
as he took his seat. 

Yet, though coarsely dressed, it was not 
an undignified man who appeared upon the 
appointed day to take the oath of office. 
And there were some who noticed that the 
formula often rattled off in such heedless 
haste as to leave in the minds of the unin- 
itiated some uncertainty whether the lan- 
guage is English or Choctaw, and in the 
minds of the serious a doubt whether the 
third commandment had not been broken, 
— this was repeated very solemnly and rev- 
erently by the new incumbent. In truth, 
there was a weight of import to David 
Sheldon in those words : “ So help me 
God !” 

It was with peculiar single-mindedness 
that he entered upon his new duties. He 
had no friends to lose, no popularity to risk. 



Page 310. 


Taking tlie Oath of Office 







. '■j 



$ 


i 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


317 


Whatever had been the motive for his nomi- 
nation, he had been lawfully elected. He ac- 
cepted it as his chance for a new life, God- 
given, and he was intent only upon faith- 
fully fulfilling the obligation he had assumed. 
“Ye serve the Lord Christ “ whatsoever he 
saith unto you, do it,’’ was his high commis- 
sion. 

Meanwhile, the party who considered 
themselves his constituents thought the 
time had arrived for reaping some benefit 
from his position, and soon attempted to do 
so. One, arrested for disorderly conduct 
and assaulting passers-by upon the street, 
boastingly informed the officers who took 
him in charge that the mayor would pro- 
tect him, and they would find themselves in 
trouble for venturing to interfere with his 
pleasure. A curious crowd, hearing his 
confident assertions, collected and followed, 
among them a number of the frequenters 
of the E-est, anxious “ to see the sport,” as 
they phrased it. 

The prisoner had undoubtedly affirmed no- 
thing more than he fully believed, for when 
he was ushered into the presence he waited 


318 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


for no court formalities, but called out with 
cool insolence, 

Hello, Dad Sheldon ! you know me. 
Tell these fellows so, and send ’em about 
their business.” 

But the grave, stern face held no glance 
of recognition. Some of his companions 
signaled the luckless culprit by a series of 
energetic nods and winks to be quiet. The 
new mayor could not openly throw the gov- 
ernment into their hands, they said ; there 
must of course be some show of an investi- 
gation, and they waited with eager curiosity, 
but with ill-concealed triumph, to see ‘‘how 
he would manage.” 

A very clear, straightforward and fearless 
management it proved, and the summary 
justice meted out to the offender utterly 
confounded him and astonished his com- 
rades. 

“If that’s to be his way, we’ve jumped 
out of the frying-pan into the fire,” declared 
one more forcibly than elegantly as in bewil- 
derment and dismay they finally dispersed. 

That was also the sentiment of a rather 
dolorous conclave held at the Best that 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


319 


night ; and from thenceforward, whatever 
might be said of Mayor Sheldon’s friends, 
he did not lack enemies — a fact that appa- 
rently did not trouble him ; he went stead- 
ily forward in the course he had marked 
out. 

In the little home as the days came and 
went the dawning of a new life became 
more and more perceptible. Countless tri- 
fles even betrayed it — the brightening light 
in the mother’s eyes, the strange, hopeful 
tone that was creeping into her voice, and 
Louise’s buoyant step as she flitted about the 
house. How much to him was the welcome 
beginning to greet him in these faces David 
Sheldon could not have told, nor how the 
little daily incidents, multiplying rapidly, 
thrilled him. Louise, coming down the 
street one evening, paused for a moment 
while he crossed from the opposite pave- 
ment. 

“I saw you coming, father, and waited 
for you,” she said. 

Trifle though it was, it meant so much to 
him that he had no words with which to 
answer the girl ; he drew her hand silently 


320 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


through his arm, and they walked home 
together. 

‘‘ And I can never remember such a thing 
in all my life before. Oh, it is so good to feel 
as if I belonged to somebody she confided 
to her sister afterward — this proud, reticent 
Louise. 

As soon as it was possible to do so the 
family arranged for Susie’s journey to New 
York. She must not go alone ; there was 
no necessity for that now, her father said, 
and it was decided, to the inexpressible re- 
lief and comfort of both, that the mother 
should accompany her child. In the brief 
and hurried preparations Miss Hannah and 
Miss Huey, full of interest and sympathy, 
proffered all the assistance in their power; 
and so, hopefully, yet tearfully and anxious- 
ly also, the travelers were finally bidden 
God-speed and sent forth on the mission 
that involved so much. 

“ I’ll help you all I can,” said Tony — or 
Nettie, as we must learn to call her now, 
since every one else is doing so — overflowing 
with neighborly kindness as she seated her- 
self beside Billy on the steps the evening 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


321 


after the departure. I know a good deal 
about housekeeping, if your sister Louise 
don’t have time enough. Aunt Ruey says 
I can sweep and dust a room real nice, and 
Aunt Hannah said she guessed she should 
let me fix the shop-window and the show- 
case after this, because I’ve a way of mak- 
ing the things look pretty. Tell your sister 
I’d just as lief help her as not. And, Billy, 
if you get lonesome any time, run right over 
to our house.” 

Yet with all offered sympathy and their 
own hopefulness the hours were slow-footed 
until the first letter arrived. The great 
oculist had made his examination of the 
case, and though he gave no positive assur- 
ance of success he spoke encouragingly, and 
decidedly advised an operation. This, how- 
ever, could not be performed at once; the 
patient’s system must be put in proper con- 
dition by previous treatment. In a week, 
he thought, it might be safely attempted. 
Susie was receiving every attention and 
they were comfortably situated. 

The message brought all of hope they 
had dared to expect, yet the intervening 
21 


322 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


days were heavy with suspense ; and when 
at length tidings came the hands that re- 
ceived the letter trembled alike with dread 
and eagerness, longing yet scarcely daring 
to read it. But its first words banished 
fear. The experiment had been entirely 
successful ; Susie had borne it bravely, and 
was very happy in the one glimpse of the 
outer world and of her mother’s face grant- 
ed her before the surgeon had peremptorily 
banished her to darkness again, to wait until 
the restored eyes grew stronger and could be 
gradually accustomed to the light. So per- 
fectly satisfactory the operation had been 
that, with youth and health in her favor, 
he did not doubt that time would bring re- 
covery ; and with this glad prospect before 
her she was well content to endure the few 
days of imprisonment yet necessary. 

After that the brief absence was to those 
who remained at home only time to plan and 
carry into effect some changes in the appear- 
ance of the house and furniture. Nothing 
costly or elaborate — they could afford no 
great expenditure ; only a few simple addi- 
tions and improvements that added a taste- 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


323 


ful, home-like look to the rooms and would 
be no small pleasure and surprise to the re- 
turning ones. Such work was a rare luxury 
to Louise, and the close sympathy and fre- 
quent councils into which it drew the father 
and daughter formed a new bond between 
them, never afterward to be broken. That 
home-coming was a memorable day in the 
family history, no more to be forgotten than 
described. Susie, heavily veiled and with 
shaded eyes, came again into the familiar 
rooms, and there, away from the glare of the 
sunlight, could look upon them all again un- 
til the happy tears blinded her. There were 
so many questions and answers to be ex- 
changed, such a comparing of experiences 
and relating of incidents, that it was long 
before they could settle into anything like 
calmness. 

While Susie was left to rest for a little 
while, her mother went about the house to 
commend Louise’s housekeeping and note 
the improvements here and there. She 
seemed to have grown younger during her 
few weeks’ absence. The trial and anxiety 
of the first few days had indeed left their im- 


324 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


press, but her later stay in the great city and 
the journey homeward had been thoroughly 
enjoyed. Intercourse with strangers, new 
experiences, new scenes, and, more than all, 
new hopes, had brightened the worn face and 
lent to voice and manner an unwonted an- 
imation. The eyes that watched her were 
quick to see the change — saw it with pleas- 
ure and self-reproach strangely blended : 

‘‘Then you like the changes we have 
made, Mary ? Like them all ?” 

“ Yes, all. How could I help it, when 
you have arranged everything so nicely ? It 
is so sweet to come home in this way ! I am 
so glad to have everything just as it is, and 
most of all, you, David !” Her look said 
more than her words as she turned toward 
him and dropped her head for a moment 
upon his shoulder. 

Miss Nettie Durand, who had flitted in and 
out numerous times that day, was quite im- 
pressed with the joyfulness of the occasion. 

“ It ^most makes me wish we had somebody 
to come home too ; only there are enough of 
us now,” she remarked that evening. 

“ I should think so, if the mending is any 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


325 


sign/’ answered Miss Hannah, without look- 
ing up from the school-apron she was sup- 
plying with a new pocket. Nevertheless, in 
her secret heart she was already beginning 
to take not a little pride in her adopted 
niece, and to find that bright young presence 
in the house so enjoyable as to render her 
efforts at resignation in that direction no 
longer arduous. 

The vigorous measures of the new mayor 
in suppressing some of the evils which had 
grown up under a former lax rule soon at- 
tracted favorable comment, and the press, 
with a beautiful forgetfulness of the past, 
congratulated ‘‘our city upon its judicious 
selection.” Because of that sombre past 
Mayor Sheldon knew well with whom he 
was dealing, and how to reach them most 
effectively ; and the bitter denunciation that 
came to him from certain quarters of having 
deceived his supporters and betrayed his 
friends in no wise altered his purpose. They 
speedily learned the uselessness of any ap- 
peal to him in his official capacity for either 
recognition or indulgence; yet when one 
of them met him upon the street one day, 


326 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


he answered readily enough to the old name, 
listened patiently to the mingling of re- 
proaches and complaints, and then replied 
quietly, 

“ You never were my friends. Do you 
call that friendship which will try to drag a 
man down until he becomes a curse to him- 
self, his family and the world? Did you 
think that for the sake of such I would per- 
jure myself and let riot and ruin loose in 
the city? Is that your idea of ‘dealing 
square,’ as you call it ? You were my ene- 
mies, Dan ; you are your own enemies now, 
and you know it. Turn about and give up 
the old ways, and I’ll help you all I can ; but 
whatever is contrary to law, order and right 
I will fight against and put down as far as it 
is in my power to do so. I took the oath of 
office honestly, and I mean to fulfill it to the 
best of my ability. You may all as well 
understand that.” 

It was a definition of his policy sufficient- 
ly clear to be comprehended, and was amply 
discussed by those most interested ; but their 
vengeful remarks concerning his readiness 
to forget old companions were wholly unjust. 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


327 


Some, indeed, would have been glad, a little 
later, had his memory been more treacher- 
ous; his perfect recollection of them and 
their antecedents proved exceedingly incon- 
venient. But there were others among the 
miners and about the mountain for whom 
his compassionate interest never wearied, 
and whom he strove to aid, influence and 
uplift by every means at his command. 

Gradually he gathered about him on the 
police force and in other capacities a few 
from out the old ranks — faithful, fearless 
and shrewd men whose strength and cour- 
age could be relied upon. And though the 
proverb, “ Set a thief to catch a thief,’’ was 
tauntingly quoted, yet “ Sheldon’s specials ” 
made themselves useful, and were no insig- 
nificant power in the repression of disorder 
and the efficient enforcement of law that 
was steadily bringing the city into a better 
and more healthful condition. 

One effect of the new rule was manifested 
after a few months. The Mountaineers’ Best 
had counted too confidently upon the license 
and benefit to flow to it from the new admin- 
istration, and in the week preceding and im- 


328 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


mediately following the inauguration the pro- 
prietor had ventured upon numerous extrav- 
agant expenditures and negotiations, adding 
to his building and ordering supplies in the 
expectation of a greatly-increased business. 
But the event had greatly disappointed him. 
The place was under too close watch to be as 
profitable in many ways as formerly. Custom 
declined on that account, embarrassment and 
failure to meet expenses followed, and one 
day — or rather one night, for the flitting 
was accomplished in the darkness — the 
owner folded ’’ his “ tents like the Arabs, 
and as silently stole away,” none in the 
neighborhood knew whither. 

Over this departure Jessie Barclay and 
numerous wives and mothers on the Bidge 
and in the Bow heartily rejoiced, and the 
superintendent drew a long breath, as if the 
mountain-air had suddenly grown purer. 
With the lifting of this incubus it seemed 
to him and to his wife that their plans and 
purposes of help assumed new hopefulness, 
and they took fresh courage in recognizing, 
as they soon did, an efficient co-worker in 
Mayor Sheldon. It was, in truth, the be- 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


329 


ginning of a new era for the mountain- 
neighborhood, the dawning of a day that 
is still growing brighter. 

Mayor Sheldon's first term of office ex- 
pired nearly two years since, but he was re- 
elected by a far different vote from the one 
that first gave him his position. The city 
has prospered under his reign, and though 
there are some who wish he would shine 
more in public dinners, and not devote so 
much time to the vagabond and tempted — 
that he would take a deeper interest in 
rings ” and parties, and were not quite so 
staunch a friend of the temperance cause — 
still, he is deservedly popular, and was re- 
elected by a flattering vote. 

The family have removed to a more com- 
modious house, tasteful though unostenta- 
tious ; but Billy, a healthful, merry school- 
boy, takes his homeward way around the old 
street still for the purpose of seeing ‘‘ Cousin 
Nettie ’’ safe home and chatting a little with 
Miss Hannah and Miss Ruey, with whom he 
was always a favorite, and who like him none 
the less for his admiration of “ our Nettie,” 
who has grown to a pretty, graceful girlhood. 


330 


VAGABOND AND VICTOR. 


and is the delight of the quiet little rooms 
behind the store. 

Jessie Barclay, queen in her own merry, 
rosy household, has gradually extended her 
kingdom until it embraces an oversight of 
many of the ignorant, the tempted, the poor 
and the suffering around her. Others, true, 
noble, warm-hearted women, have long since 
joined hands with her in her mission on the 
mountain, but she has no more earnest friends, 
no more faithful aids, than bright-eyed, gen- 
tle, sweet-faced Susie, winning always her 
way by her sunniness, and straightforward, 
thoughtful, practical Louise, skillful in 
planning and tireless in doing. 

“All is well that ends well,’’ and the evil 
years are happily blotted out. 

Say you so, O reader? David Sheldon 
would answer otherwise. Redeemed indeed, 
blessing his family, doing good in the world, 
striving to obey the voice that still is calling 
“ Follow me,” he cannot forget the past or 
make it as though it had not been. The 
soul still bears its scars. He realizes it often 
in his work for others; he knows it in the 


RETURNING LIGHT. 


331 


fierce battles with old temptations that he 
still must wage, and in the flood of dark 
memories that can never lose their remorse- 
ful power. Among the home-faces he al- 
ways misses one, and whenever in the streets 
he passes a shabbily-dressed, anxious-eyed 
working-boy, the old wound throbs and 
bleeds. 

Only eternity can restore the ‘‘ years that 
the canker-worm hath eaten,” only heaven’s 
full sunlight banish the shadows that linger 
in the heart of His Honor the Mayor. 


THE END. 






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